Temptations of a Dark Soul
by Amerision
Summary: Left with a shard of Tom Riddle within, Harry Potter struggles against memories and feelings not his own. While Britain succumbs to fear and hysteria, he must fight two sides: the power games of Lord Voldemort as well as the darkness inside his own mind.
1. Twilight

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Set the day after Harry destroys Dumbledore's office.

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**Temptations of a Dark Soul**

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1: Twilight

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_For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why: the hall was quite empty but for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under the witch statue, and the baby phoenix Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor._

_Then Harry's scar burst open and he knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance._

_He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature's began: they were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape…_

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_"__THEN - I - DON'T - WANT - TO - BE - HUMAN!' Harry roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle legged table beside him and flung it across the room; it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of_

_anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, "Really!"_

_"__I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE!"_

_He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions._

_"__You do care,' said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."_

_"__I - DON'T!" Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second he wanted to rush at Dumbledore and break him, too; shatter that calm old face, shake him, hurt him, make him feel some tiny part of the horror inside himself. _

_-OOTP_

_--- _

The wheezing fire in the mantle gave a pitiful last crackle of protest before dying as Harry passed it, a small victorious gust of unusually cold wind flooding the common room. Harry walked stiffly out of the portrait hole into the corridor, nodding politely but giving little attention to the chatty Fat Lady behind him. 

Most of the school was at breakfast, leaving the corridors empty save a few students still scurrying about the castle. The weather outside was bleak and subdued, which suited Harry fine. Dim, grey light trickled weakly through the long glass panes that lined the walkways, casting the same stuffy feeling all throughout Hogwarts. It was gratifying to see his misery shared by everyone, however minutely.

Walking into the Great Hall, Harry noticed that the normally rowdy students were unusually quiet, most of them whispering and pointing to the newspapers that littered the four house tables. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he ducked his head and quickly grabbed a piece of toast from the Gryffindor table. His tired, horror-stricken face looked back at him as he looked at the copies of the _Daily Prophet _that had assaulted the school. Slightly sick, he made his way to the hospital wing without being gawked at.

As he walked, Harry could hear the voices of his friends, Ron and Hermione speaking together with Luna, Ginny, and Neville. They were speaking in hushed tones of their experiences last night. Hermione evidently made a startling discovery and began reading something.

The thought of last night brought a fresh stab of guilt – everyone in the group had been hurt in some way due to his reckless actions. Despite the gleeful inner voice that blamed Dumbledore (the Headmaster had, after all, confessed), he still felt miserable about the entire affair.

Opening the heavy doors, he saw a healthy but slightly pale looking Hermione hunched over the _Daily Prophet, _nose scrunched up in disbelief. Ron, Luna, and the others listened intently, chattering in protest.

"'…_a lone voice of truth…perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story…forced to bear ridicule and slander…' _Hmmm," Hermione said, frowning, "I notice they seem to leave out the fact that they were doing all the ridicule and slandering, though…"

She looked up at Harry, who was leaning on the inside of the door, expression unreadable.

"At least Fudge came clean about You-Know-Who," she said, throwing the newspaper at Harry. Hermione winced at the motion, bringing her hand to her chest. Madam Pomfrey had let on quietly to them that Dolohov's curse would have most likely killed her had it been verbal.

Catching the paper, Harry sat down at the edge of Ron's bed and opened it up, relenting to his growing curiosity.

---

**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS**

_In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more._

"_It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord – well, you know who I mean – is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord –Thingy._

_"We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the coming month."_

_The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more"._

_Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening._

_Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has so far been unavailable for comment. He has insisted over the past year that You-Know-Who is not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but is recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile the Boy-Who-Lived –_

---_  
_

Harry scowled and crumbled the paper, throwing it into the nearby rubbish bin. He didn't need to read about his innocence and a rehash of his heroic exploits. Now they knew his value, understood all his hard work and sacrifice. He knew he should have felt relief and even glad that his era of notoriety had ended, but he couldn't help but hate the public. They were fickle fools. He didn't know who he hated more – the ringleaders of it all, whoever they were, or the people, for so willingly and easily embracing the ideas without second thought.

Kicking the bin savagely in one last outburst of anger, he looked up to concerned stares of all his friends. In the background, the still form of Madam Umbridge bolted upright, looking around wildly. Embarrassed at his uncharacteristic behavior, Harry ignored their unease and inquired after Umbridge with a quick laugh, trying to shift the attention away.

Ron, after staring at him oddly, answered in an amused voice. "She does that when we make certain noises. Madam Pomfrey says she's in shock."

Ginny giggled, adding: "Sulking, more like." The rest of them snorted at this, with Luna causing a round of snickers when she conjectured innocently that the former High Inquisitor was now unwillingly carrying the spawn of some strange Wizard/Centaur hybrid.

As the humor died down into more serious conversation, Harry felt a dull throb grip the center of his head. He leaned against the footboard and propped his elbow against it, supporting his head. He watched his friends interact, leaving them to chatter as he grew distracted.

Harry looked back down to rubbish bin, which had fallen over, revealing a crumbled lone page of the _Daily Prophet _ that had survived his rage. A tiny article facing him had a title that caught his eye.

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**Infamous Black Gone for Good!**

_The escaped convict Sirius Black was confirmed dead yesterday, according to Ministry sources close to Albus Dumbledore. The news comes amidst the recent return of You-Know-Who, Black's leader. While some breathed a sigh of relief in the death of the thirty-six year old Azkaban escapee, some groups still claim his innocence. _

_Allegations of his guilt, however, far outnumber those in his defense, and the author of this article is forced to agree. Where, for example, is Peter Pettigrew if Mr. Black did not, in fact, murder him viciously? _

_Regardless of these few voices of protest, we here at the _Daily Prophet_ hope the Boy-Who-Lived sleeps easier knowing one of the chief Death Eaters responsible for the death of his parents is now dead._

---_  
_

The pitifully notice was a stark contrast to the vast media coverage his Godfather had received during Harry's third year, but its content still managed to make Harry bear his teeth. Tearing his eyes away from the reporter's name, he cleared from his head all thoughts of cursing the man and stood.

The circle of friends stopped talking abruptly, and looked towards Harry inquiringly.

"Where to, Harry? You just came!" asked Ron with surprise. "We've no more tests, you know!" Hermione muttered something under her breath, but soon joined Ron's protest.

Harry felt like snapping at them, but knew it was unreasonable. Instead he thought up a viable excuse. "Er – Hagrid's," he said unconvincingly. "You know, he just got back and I promised to let him know how you two are."

The group looked mildly unbelieving, but he promised to make it up to them later. All he wanted to do was get away and be alone. He quickly left the Hospital Wing before they could plead for him to stay further.

Students walking about the hallways talking, munching on leftover toast, or reading the Sunday Prophet looked up at him as he passed; some called out to him, or else waved, clearly eager to show that they, like the Prophet, had decided he was something of a hero again. Harry kept quiet, setting aside the urge to curse every single of them for their hypocrisy. They were so stupidly naive it infuriated him.

After avoiding a particularly large group of young Hufflepuffs, Harry took decided to leave the castle, to find somewhere to sit outside. There were far too many students around for him to get any moment of peace. He left for the Entrance Hall, slipping through some of the more unused corridors in the castle. Along with some judicious use of disillusionment and notice-me-not charms, he made his way to the massive wooden doors without bumping into anyone.

The door creaked open at his pull, revealing the strangely cool weather outside. Pulling his robes around him, he walked across the grounds and mulled over recent events.

Lord Voldemort's public return meant more than silent attacks and shady dealings in the dark alleyways of Britain. It meant real war, the slaughtering of normal everyday wizards. The families of his classmates would most likely start disappearing or end up dead like the last war. Sirius had described the horror each day brought for Hogwarts students, dreading the day their Head of House would drag them to the side.

A small part of him couldn't imagine him caring. He idly thought of the satisfaction crowing to everyone that he was right all along, that they were wrong and it was costing them dearly. Disgust quickly seeped in, however, and he immediately regretted even thinking of it.

His headache hadn't gotten any better, and the back of his head seemed to want to split into two. Stopping by the lake, he sat down under a nearby tree, leaning back against the aging willow.

He took out his wand on an impulse and looked at it, passing it through his fingers and twirling it around. The wand, he reflected, had done great things. It had brought into a being a Patronus capable of repelling a hundred Dementors. It had dueled with the most powerful Dark Wizard in centuries. It had protected him in numerous occasions, defending the lives of his and those of his friends. Great things, much like its brother.

It had also done terrible things.

"_Prioriem Incantato," _he whispered, the spell floating to the front of his mind.

His wand did nothing for a few moments before a faint red mist seeped out of the tip of his wand. The mist crudely depicted the similarly colored spell leaving a wand, exploding into white. The word 'STUPEFY' could be seen in the background, sharpening.

He kept his grip on the wand and flicked it some more, knowing what would come next.

This time, his wand shuddered as if in protest before spitting out a sickly grey cloud. It grew in thickness before him, showing a dark force hit a vaguely defined creature. It screamed silently in protest, and in his mind, Harry thought he could hear the wretchedness of the curse.

Behind it, in an almost comical looking spidery script was 'CRUCIO'. It hovered in the air for a moment before dissipating away, leaving behind a sombre feeling.

Harry took a sharp breath, feeling more paranoid than ever before. He looked around him, hoping no one had caught what could be considered in current times enough proof to lock him away in Azkaban.

He had hated like he had never before when he had attempted to cast it on Bellatrix. Apparently it was not enough. Now though, he had a feeling he could cast it successfully, to make the vile woman writhe like the being from the charm, twisting and turning on the ground willing to do anything to make it stop.

The unbidden thought scared him slightly, but he knew that it was true. The Death Eaters hated and killed, tortured and committed the most deprived of acts. He felt his own personal vendetta was justified.

Shaking his head to clear the odd fantasy, he pushed himself of the ground and stood, pocketing his strangely warm, almost eager wand.

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**A/N:**Rewritten 11/11/07 to improve flow, readability, and canon-adhesiveness to fifth book. 

Thanks for reading and please review!

Amerision


	2. Tearing the Mask

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Updated 11/9/06 to reflect major plot changes and to increase overall maturity of Tom Riddle.

The style has changed significantly from the first chapter. It's probably more coherent and engaging.

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Chapter 2: Tearing the Mask

* * *

_They don't know me. What happened to Boy, or Freak? _

_I didn't always live with my heart on my sleeve, jumping into life threatening situations like I do now. Coming into the wizarding world, I started hating being the boy lived. But I was so desperate to get away from my old life that I became who they wanted me to be. _

_An Icon. The Golden Gryffindor. I suppressed "Just Harry", and became Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. It was strange. I hated it all, but in a way, I needed it. I grasped desperately to it. Why else would I be mad when the legend of Harry Potter was attacked? I guess it became a safeguard. In the summers, No matter what happened, I told myself I WAS loved. _

_I was known. I wasn't "Boy", I wasn't a "Freak". I was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, loved and welcomed by all. I wanted so bad to put my old life behind, to embrace this new world. I wanted to forget that Harry - the one that spent time thinking up escape routes from Dudley's gangs, the "slippery, slimy, freak" they called me. _

_The slimy one slipped through their grasp again, eh? It sounds so familiar. I'm such a hypocrite. I can see now I lost myself. I locked Harry in and lived on the outside, away from Boy, Freak, the Real Harry. I became _theirs_. Harry Potter, the brave knight. Harry Potter, the one whose grades matter not. Harry Potter, man of action, HERO. _

_It's killing me. Its killing all I have gained in this new world. What happened to you Harry? Where are you my snakish friend? Shower me in you cunning, your planning, your foresight! I often wonder where I would be if I had stayed silent during the sorting. _

_The hat knew best, it really did. It IS a talking Hat, after all. _

_It knew the real me. _

* * *

Harry found his way into the Great Hall, once again greeted by a subdued atmosphere. His stomach growled unnecessarily – he had missed lunch and had barely made it to dinner. He had wandered a long time in the forgotten corners of the school, thinking of past events.

Looking around, he noticed a lot of guilty looks in his direction. Narrowing his eyes, he swept them across the Gryffindor table, mercifully absent of any inquiring minds. He silently took a spot next to a pair of first years who were locked in a heated debate. Filling his plate, he proceeded to devour the food in front of him, trying his best to ignore the pestering stares he was receiving. He was interrupted from thoughts of revenge by the silence that had overtaken the students.

Looking up, he saw that the old fool had risen to his feet. He stood silent for a few moments, the stars and moons on his silver robes twinkling a bit. The aging headmaster had a flair for the dramatic that surpassed even Snape. Observing his students, he began to speak.

"For the last week of the term, optional advanced classes are offered to the students. They will not count for credit, but will simply serve as enrichment opportunities to your core subjects." Dumbledore said, his voice booming over the still hall. Waving his hand over the students, he continued. "The classes are open to all. The schedule for the next week will be posted in the common rooms. Enjoy the rest of your meal." With that, the old mage sat down. His eyes met Harry's briefly, a flicker of worry passing them before Harry turned away.

Harry had no desire to converse with the headmaster any time soon. Undoubtedly, he would corner Harry in the hallways over the next week and attempt to reconcile. The classes seemed to be the only way to avoid Dumbledore. Perhaps they would even teach him something to aid in his battle against the Dark Lord.

He rose from his table and quickly made his way out of the Great Hall before dinner ended, intent on retrieving the rest of his belongings from Gryffindor Tower before the rest of his house members returned. He had no intention of receiving half-hearted apologies. Standing in front of the portrait, he realized that he did not know the password; it had changed after the OWLS and he was too busy getting his godfather killed to get the new one. Shaking his head to clear thoughts of Sirius, he gave up guessing and waited, hoping that it would be a first year that wouldn't bother him.

Once again, fate had no such plans for Harry Potter.

Colin Creevey strode up to the portrait, his face lighting up as he saw his hero.

"Hey Harry!" the diminutive boy exclaimed, literally bouncing in excitement. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, sighing. Colin, undeterred, proceeded to ramble on how he knew Harry wasn't crazy and how great he was. The fourth year, if possible, became more and more gleeful as he talked, thrilled to be holding a conversation with the boy-who-lived. Harry decided to interrupt him before Colin wet himself in excitement.

"…I knew they were lying Har-"

"Colin, _Colin_!" Harry interrupted. The boy shut up and looked at Harry, a goofy smile on his face. "What's the new password?"

Colin broke into a broad grin at the possibility of helping Harry Potter.

"The new password? It's '_Courageous Lions'_. So, what was You-Know-Who like? Was he really…" the insufferable boy proceeded to babble on.

Harry ignored him and spoke the password to the Fat Lady, entering Gryffindor Tower. Coming into the common room, he took the stairs to the 5th Year Boy's dormitory. Colin followed him in, still talking.

"You-Know-Who ran away! I bet you can take him, right Harry?"

Harry's left eye twitched. Fingering his sparking wand, he proceeded to pack his trunk.

"Those idiots, making fun of you. It's all that Skeeter woman…"

Harry wondered what it would take to make him go away. Something to _obliterate _the boy. Spill his blood and guts on the walls; give it a nice new paint job to cover that annoying shade of red that pervaded the entirety of Gryffindor Tower with the irritatingly cheerful gold…Pity there wasn't any green or silver in the human body. Maybe some nice grey brain matter…

An image of an explosion curse came to mind.

It was dark magic, through and through. Apparently it was rather like a localized bomb, its potential variant on the power of its caster. Used with a small amount of power, it could knock back multiple opponents, causing severe burns. With high amounts though, the results became more…interesting.

_Harry weaved his way through the mass of dueling wizards. Ducking a sickly green beam of light, he turned around and observed the progress of the two sides. It needed to end – and fast. Drawing out his white wand and grinning in anticipation, he thought back to a curse he had learned just yesterday. _

"Explodra," _he muttered, jabbing his wand toward the group of closely grouped red robed figures. A pitch black ball of energy burst from the tip of his wand, causing it to buckle slightly. _

"You'll destroy the rest of those Death Eaters…"

_The ball hit the ground beneath the wizards and exploded, causing a shock wave to rumble in the surrounding area. Harry watched in fascination as the men immediately around the epicenter were simply vaporized. A fine mist of blood burst out with the rippling dark waves of power that expanded, mutilating the wizards, cutting through their ranks with ease. Harry closed his eyes in the pleasure that flowed through his body, spiking with each kill. _

"…punish them for all the people they've killed…"

_The waves gradually thinned out and disappeared, leaving a tired, yet thoroughly satisfied dark wizard. He had decimated thirteen men with a single curse. Well, thirteen and half…there was one man who had lost most of his lower body and was currently screaming in agony. Thirteen and half, just like his wand…His mind went back to the carnage he had wreaked single-handedly. Granted, they were rather close, and it _had _been tiring, but the _fear_, the fear inflicted did more damage than any single curse could ever accomplish. He watched in satisfaction as the remaining crimson robed defenders apparated away hastily. _

Harry opened his eyes, aware of the pleasure flooding his body. Was that how dark magic felt?

He shook his head, clearing any errant thoughts. He was positive that was no simple daydream. They weren't visions either, as his scar felt fine. He felt like he was _there_. He felt the intoxicating feelings that flooded his mind when he had cast that curse. The thrill of the kill…

_One of his men came to him, bowing slightly. He was tempted to punish him for not bowing all the way, but decided to let it slide. When he saw who it was, he suppressed the urge to reverse his earlier decision. However useful the man was, he was incredibly annoying. Overly loyal, he worshiped him like some god. He grinned. Then again, he wasn't too far from _that_ either…_

"You'll be a hero again! Not that you weren't all along…"

"_Sir, that was magnificent! You look tired. Go rest, we'll take care of the others. You have truly outdone yourself…" Harry scowled, twirling his wand. He didn't bother suppressing the urge this time. _

"Harry? Harry, are you all right? You must be tired from kicking those Death Eat-"

"_Crucio_!" Harry's eyes widened, dropping his wand in horror as the curse left his wand. The crackling burst of red light barely missed Colin's face, hitting Ron's bed behind him. The bed's front end blew off, smashing into the window beside it. The wood burst into flames. Colin stepped backwards, eyes wide in fear. He spun around and made for the door. Harry, thinking quickly, stunned him from behind. He stood there for a moment, amidst the chaos that he had caused.

He dropped to his haunches, leaning against the wall. Blood ran down his face from the cuts the broken glass had made.

What was he doing? This was the second time he had come close to seriously injuring his classmates. Sure Colin had it coming, but the Cruciatus? The Cruciatus…it was an unforgivable. A lifetime sentence in the island of Azkaban. Harry stood up.

Colin could not remember this.

Turning him over with his foot, he brought his wand up to bear.

"_Obliviate!_"

He sorted through the boy's memories, placing blocks around any record of the last five minutes. Withdrawing, he sent a low powered bruising hex at his forehead. He then dragged him over to the stairs. Harry stepped back and checked his work. It was almost routinely done, like he had done it before. Only he was sure he had never performed the memory charm before. He was positive that his new abilities and his daydreams were somehow related. Before he could think anymore on the matter, he heard the portrait swing open and voices flow up through the door.

He hastily extinguished the fire in Ron's bed and cleared the ashes on the carpet. He could hear the students enter the common room. Waving his wand, he repaired the bed and conjured a new pillow and comforter. He then turned his wand on himself and muttered a healing charm. The glass fell from his face onto the ground. Someone was coming up the stairs to the fifth year dormitories.

He ran up to the window and swung it completely open to hide the fact that it was broken. The person was turning left onto the stairs to the boy's side of the tower. He cursed and looked around. Glass littered the floor. Spotting the pitcher next to his bed, he kicked it over. The knob turned and the door swung open. He ran back to Colin.

"_Ennervate," _he whispered.

* * *

Ronald Weasley entered the Fifth Year boy's dormitory to see his best mate Harry Potter help Colin Creevey up from the ground.

"Hey Harry," Ron said slowly, wary of the boy after his display with Neville. Harry looked up, hiding his wand behind his back, slipping it back up his sleeve.

"Hey Ron," he replied a bit too cheerfully. Ron looked at his friend worried. He had been acting strangely lately…"You out of the hospital wing already?" Harry sounded a bit disappointed.

Frowning at his friends' behavior, he replied.

"Yeah, I just have to put on these ointments everyday until I get home," He lifted his hands to reveal a bottle of murky white substance, "But Hermione will be there until a few days before term ends." He didn't dare mention how it was all Harry's fault they went on the entirely counterproductive suicidal mission in the first place. On a whim. "What happened here?" he said, gesturing to Colin and the broken glass. "And why does it smell like something's burning…?" He trailed off, walking toward his bed.

"Colin had a bit of a fall, tripped on the stairs…He was carrying a pitcher of water for me," Harry said, supporting a dizzy Colin. "You all right Colin? You have a nasty bruise on your forehead." The boy looked up with unfocused eyes.

"I…I think I'm fine…I must have hit my head pretty hard though, I can't remember a single thing about it all." Harry tried to look sympathetic.

"Why don't you go lie down, I don't think it's enough to bother Madam Pomfrey with," Harry suggested. He didn't want him to go see the healer. He was sure she would spot the real reason for his condition instantly. That would lead to too many questions.

Colin nodded weakly, ambling away. He looked over at Ron who was poking his comforter with distaste, as if it had a disease.

"Stupid Elves. They never make a mistake, why now? It must be some kind of prank…" Ron muttered darkly. Harry walked up to the comforter and ran his hand over it.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. The conjuration was perfect, silky soft and permanent. Perhaps it was a bit too perfect?

Ron looked over at his friend, in disbelief.

"What's wrong with it? THEY'RE SLYTHERIN COLORS!" Ron exploded.

Harry blinked.

Looking at his creation, he saw that it was black and green, trimmed with silver. He twisted his head to see the rest of the beds. Red and gold, he noticed distastefully. He blinked once more. Why distastefully? He was _in love_ with red and gold, the Gryffindor colors. Or was he? And what was with his sudden preoccupation with black, green, and silver, _Slytherin _colors? Conjurations took the form of what you were envisioning. He had envisioned a comforter with Slytherin colors.

Thinking back, he realized his bed in the Room of Requirement had the Slytherin theme as well. What was going on? He usually hated anything Slytherin, and here he was now sleeping in Slytherin beds and conjuring Slytherin comforters. In fact, he found Ron's exuberant outburst over something so trivial rather pointless. They were just colors, nice colors at that…

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand waving in his face with the red head that owned it looking at him worriedly.

It was the mere fact that Harry's wand was out of his hand at the moment that saved Ron's life. Trying to slip a wand out of a sleeve in the heat of battle would only lead to it falling to the ground and out of reach. He needed to get some type of holster.

"Harry? Harry, you all right? You spaced out there for a moment…" he trailed off, looking at his friend's clenched hands. "Maybe you should go rest. You look tense."

_You have no idea…_

Harry took a deep breath and replied.

"Yeah, yeah I will. I just need to get a bottle of a Dreamless sleep potion from the Hospital Wing before I turn in." Ron nodded his head sympathetically. His friend _had _just lost his godfather after all.

"Sure thing," he replied, still looking at him worriedly. Harry left the dormitory inwardly smirking. Ron was just so easily manipulated. He was so emotional, impulsive, so… Gryffindor. Anything worthy of an emotional response shook him from his train of thoughts. Using a reference to his loss of Sirius made him forget all about the fact his comforters were all wrong, or that the dorm smelt of smoke.

Harry bounded down the stairs as quickly as he could before running into Neville. The chubby boy paled and stepped back into the wall behind him, eyeing him fearfully. Being in the narrow corridor that housed the stairs didn't help his case.

Harry frowned at his behavior before remembering the events of the morning. He raised his hands, and moved forward slowly.

"Hey Neville. Sorry about this morning, I was kinda tense." The round faced boy nodded slowly, still tense. Harry patted his shoulder comfortingly.

Neville flinched. Harry just shook his head and walked on.

Turning into the Common Room, he ignored the bashful apologies sent his way. He exited through the portrait and made his way to the dungeons. He refused to visit the Hospital Wing. He didn't need to have anyone know he had trouble sleeping. It would reach Dumbledore one way or another, who would question him on it and make life generally more difficult.

He needed to raid Snape's personal stores. The greasy-haired man, if you could call him that, was currently at the staff meeting that took place after dinner on weekends. He walked in the shadows, turning corners as silently as he could. If he was to be caught by Filch after hours raiding the Potion Master's stores, he would be interrogated on the reason and put under surveillance. Unfortunately, he was without his invisibility cloak. As he was going through his trunk, he noticed it was missing. No doubt it was confiscated to prevent him from setting off on another foolish escapade.

Passing some first year Hufflepuffs, he crept down the stairs that led to Potions classroom.

Thankfully, the door was open. He made his way to the back room that held all the surplus potions that Snape stored. Silently thanking the Death Eater's orderliness, he quickly found the labeled bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion. Slipping it in his pocket, he quickly made his way out of the storeroom.

Leaving the classroom, he heard periodic clunking sound.

Filch.

The man was somehow always there when you needed to avoid detection. Something soft brushed against his feet.

Mrs. Norris.

The dust colored skeletal cat hissed softly at him, its lamp-like yellow eyes peering at him. She bared her teeth, hissing again.

"What is it, dear? A troublemaker? Old Filch will get him…"

Harry scowled at the cat. He cast a disillusionment charm on himself, suppressing a shudder from cold liquid that ran down his head, onto the rest of his body. Pressing his body into the shadows, he came up with an idea to rid himself of the caretaker. Grinning, he cast a quick _silencio_ and did what every student in the Castle dreamed of doing.

He gave the blasted cat a swift, wholesome kick in the stomach. The cat gave an odd shrieking noise as it flew through the classroom door, smashing into the potion ingredients.

Filch cried out, running past him to tend to his cat. Harry chuckled darkly and ran up to the Room of Requirement unchallenged. Entering the Slytherin themed room, he set the potion down and dropped down into a nearby chair. He could feel another headache coming on.

These frequent headaches were an almost constant companion to him now. And worse were the day dreams that he found himself in.

_I'm cracking…_

He gave a bitter grin.

_It's about time. _

Harry couldn't find himself to care. So much had happened that even sanity meant little to him. The prophecy, the break in into the Department of Mysteries, and…and Sirius.

He still hadn't told the others what had happened in the Veil Chamber, so he assumed Neville had filled them in. He was in no mood to speak to any of them on the matter.

He needed some space, to work out his feelings. But more importantly, he needed to assess his situation. His perception of the Wizarding World had changed recently, whether it was Dumbledore's prophecy, the people's stupidity, or Sirius's death.

On top of it all, he needed to find a way to get rid of the darkest wizard in centuries. He needed a plan, he needed knowledge. He needed power.

Harry had no illusions that he was going to kill Voldemort and his followers with stunners, nor did he believe that his power to love would be the _'power the Dark Lord knows not'_. No, he needed to dig deep into things not discussed at Hogwarts. Things that his dreams seemingly provided. He thought back to the explosion curse he had dreamt of using, the fine mist of blood, the rippling waves of energy, the ecstasy. He closed his eyes.

The pleasure that had torn through his body was unlike anything he had ever experienced. One could easily equate it to sex. It was no wonder that the Dark Lord didn't desire any human contact. The gratification that the Dark Arts provided could replace contact with the fairer sex. It was quicker, cleaner, and was entirely independent of the other person's cooperation…Not that it had stopped him before of course.

Images and sounds of various women in bed flooded his mind, each scenario bringing a smile to his lips. They all seemed familiar, red heads, blondes, ebony haired beauties…he could visualize them easily, recalling their screams, begs for mercy, or submissive whimpers. He particularly enjoyed those…

_Submissive whimpers? _

He was a virgin. The farthest he had ever gotten was with Cho…and that was a disgusting, slobbery kiss. So who were all these women? When had this happened? He suspected he was seeing the life of someone else. Perhaps he was a seer? No, he wouldn't remember the episodes then. Professor Trelawney never seemed to anyways. Perhaps a true seer?

He doubted it sincerely. He failed Divination miserably this year. He would wait patiently. Whatever they were, they seemed to center around one person. He just needed to wait until someone addressed him properly.

Looking at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was half past ten. He had checked the schedule sheet back at Gryffindor Tower on his way out. He had decided to go to Advanced Transfiguration at nine and Healing Potions at three. Harry cringed at the idea of extra Potions, but he figured he would need all the knowledge he could get.

After witnessing the duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore, Harry had a whole new respect for Transfiguration. Learning to duel using the subject would benefit him immensely. He wondered who was going to teach the class – McGonagall was still at St. Mungos. Shrugging, he headed to bed. Transfiguration was a long class, stretching three hours long. He would need the rest.

He stripped to his boxers and drank the potion he had stolen. Black spots crept into his vision as it did its work. Dropping into bed, he let the darkness claim him. Maybe he would get more clues tonight.

* * *

_Harry walked in the dark hallways deep in the dungeons. Turning left at a junction, he stopped at what appeared to be a dead end. Touching the uppermost brick on the top right, he calmly stepped through the barrier. _

_Past the barrier was a small room with a door that led to a tunnel beneath the Forbidden Forest. From the shadows cast by the meager torch walked out five hooded figures. The tallest figure stepped ahead of the rest, a crimson pin-wheel design on his left breast. _

"_You are late," the black robed figure said, his tone holding a hint of annoyance. His accent was harsh, jarring. Most likely German or Austrian. It didn't matter; they were the same side these days. _

_Harry narrowed his eyes. It would be unwise to upset them; however he had to establish the fact that he was not their pawn. To be slightly late meant he was above their control, their better. _

"_A matter of unimportance. We must leave at once. The old man will notice of I have not returned by nightfall," he said calmly. Not responding to emotional provocation could be infinitely more annoying than retorting. It signaled that the other party was unworthy of your attention. _

_The man growled at him. Harry allowed himself a condescending smile, but felt inwardly disappointed. He was hoping to witness the typically characterized German – cold, calculating, and extremely efficient. _

_Not answering him, he headed toward the door. He motioned for the others to follow him, completely Harry. Harry entered the tunnel with the others, trailing a fair bit behind. It was the best position, giving you the tactical advantage. Should the men attack him, they would have to turn around and reorient before taking aim. The extra time would allow Harry to terminate their existence. _

_After what seemed like hours of walking through the damp, oppressive tunnel, the ground started on an incline. Soon, the walls narrowed and the ceiling pressed in. They came up to a wall with a heavy wooden door. The leader jerked his head toward the door at one of his larger comrades. He nodded and pried the door open, grunting with the effort. _

_Moonlight spilled through the opening crack, illuminating the men's faces for a moment. Their white blonde hair gleamed for a moment, before they moved through the opening. Harry followed them out into a dark forest. Looking back, he saw the cleverly disguised doors had already disappeared – no doubt covered in the same earthen material that made up the ground and spelled with several notice-me-not charms. _

_One of the men pressed a port-key into his hands, disappearing in a whirl of colors. His feet slammed into the ground as he arrived. He barely avoided falling over – it had taken him a year of practice but he could now arrive with a port-key without embarrassing himself. He smoothed his robes and stood tall. After all, appearance was everything, was it not?_

_He scanned his surroundings in an attempt to distinguish his destination. Damaged buildings stood all around him, rubble littering the ground. He was in the middle of a street, signs torn off their posts, deep craters strewn about. Kicking a sign over, he saw a single word dominating the yellow triangle. _

'Vorsicht.'

_German for 'danger'. So he was in Germany. By the looks of the massive metropolis, he was in Berlin. Why Berlin?_

_He walked down the street, searching for any signs of light. He briefly heard a scream of terror and a wail of a small child before they were swiftly silenced by identical green flashes of light. Perhaps his companions were there?_

_He strode serenely to the source of the noise. He approached a burnt out house, dying flames still licking at the insides. Moving forward, he stepped passed the remains of the wall when he was grabbed from behind. In a blur of movement, Harry had his attacker pinned against a wall, his wand against the assailant's throat. Its tip glowed red, lightly burning the man's neck. _

_Blue eyes regarded him calmly, seemingly unaware of his plight. Then, an insane grin spread on his face and he cocked his head. _

"_Gut, sie sind hier!" he exclaimed in German. Good, you're here! _"_Kommen sie, die anderen warten!" Come now, the others are waiting!_

_Harry released him with a curt nod. Not bothering to apologize, he replied in German in what he hoped was an authoritative tone. _

"_Führen sie mich." Lead the way. _

_The man bobbed his head before running off. He was no doubt in a dark magic rush. His pupils had been dilated and his movement erratic._

_Harry trailed after his guide through a park, swings long since abandoned. Past the park, the man turned and ran down an alley. Quickening his pace so as not to lose him, he entered the dark alley. The man was waiting for him by a gate. Beckoning him through, he came to a shabby building, its concrete walls buckling in some places. Surrounding it were a group of cloaked men similar to the ones that had led him out of Hogwarts. _

_Like before, one of the men stepped forward - rank designated by the number of the crimson designs, he realized. He studied Harry for a moment. Harry stared back at the man, face betraying no emotion. The shrouded figure nodded at him before pointing at the decrepit building. _

_Harry gave curt bow at the man and strode purposefully toward it. He knew his purpose. _

_His feet crunched on the fallen leaves that purveyed the small land the building resided. The black cloaked figures watched him, twenty of them in all. They stood completely still. _

_As he reached the front of the _home,_ he realized, he stopped in front of the front door. He decided against a simple unlocking charm; looking around him, he realized it really didn't matter if the door was intact when he was done – there wouldn't be anyone left to appreciate it. _

_With a quick flick of his wrist, his wand rushed into his hand. Power overcame his senses as he held his tool, guardian, and best friend. Harry leveled his wand against the door, its white finish gleaming against the moonlight. _

"Reducto," _he said softly, watching as the reddish-orange light burst out of his wand, tearing through the door, slamming it through its frame, landing on the stairs behind it in splinters. He stepped through, illuminating his wand with a '_lumos'.

_He shined the beam of light around him. He stepped out of the foyer and into the living room. The radio was on, blaring warnings of masked criminals going on killing sprees. There were toys on the ground and the light in the corner was on. It was like everyone had stopped what they were doing and fled…which was a likely possibility, considering the circumstances. _

_He walked through the opening in the wall and into the kitchen. On the stove was a container of boiling water. No doubt to make tea. Leaving it behind, he walked onward and into the dining room and back to the foyer. He glanced up the stairs before stepping on the first step. His heavy boot broke the door with a sharp crack along with another sound. Harry whipped around and looked for the source of the sound. A closed door at the end of the corridor. _

_Stepping toward the door, he tried the knob. Not wanting to alert suspicion this time, he whispered the unlocking charm and opened it. It was a basement. He quickly made his way down the shaky wooden stairs. The basement was damp and pitch-black. He swept the area with the narrow beam of light. He searched around the entire basement before coming upon a small cupboard. With a shaking hand, he pulled the door open. _

_Inside the cupboard lay the most beautiful woman he had seen in his entire life. Beside her stood what he presumed to be her daughter, grasping at her mother's platinum blonde hair. The child whimpered at the sight of the tall wizard. The mother scowled at him, holding her litter tightly. _

"_Lassen Sie uns allein! Was haben wir ihnen angetan?" she hissed. Leave us alone! What have we done to you? _

_She looked him in the eyes, the clear blue orbs boring into him. A wave of magic hit him, washing pleasant sensations over him. He stumbled back in surprise. The Veela charm was exceptionally powerful when used against a specific target. Against a weak mind, it could mimic the Imperious. Harry felt an overwhelming need to protect them, to do their bidding. Unfortunately, Harry was anything but weak. _

_Harry cleared his mind and stepped back forward. The Veela looked at him fearfully, awed by the display of power. Harry simply raised his wand. _

"_You exist…" he said quietly in English. He felt his magic gather and rush through his wand in preparation._

"Avada Kedavra!" _A sickly green light erupted from his wand, striking the Veela in the chest. A look of despair met him before her life was extinguished. Turning to the now sobbing little girl, he calmly leveled his wand once more. _

"Avada Kedavra!" _The jet of green light rushed at the little girl, teary eyes reflecting the oncoming curse. He turned around before it hit, closing his eyes against the dull thud that followed. _

_As he left the house, he was clapped on the back by the leader of the assembled group. _

"_Wilkommen zur Falte, mein Freund. Sie haben den Test bestanden. Sie werden den dunklen Lord persönlich treffen." the man said loudly. Welcome to the fold, my friend. You have passed the test. You will meet the Dark Lord personally. _

_Giving him one last clap on the back, the man handed him a port-key before he and the others apparated away. Harry grasped the port-key and was taken away in a swirl of colors. _

_Landing in the Forbidden Forest, he walked toward the direction of the castle. The soft crunches of his footsteps went unnoticed by him. All he could think of was the look of despair on the Veela's face as he took her life and the dull thud of the dead child. They were his first. _

_A single tear made its way down his cheek, out of place on the cold mask that he wore._

_His fate was sealed. _

* * *

Harry woke up, drenched in cold sweat. He rushed to the bathroom to empty his stomach. He heaved for ten minutes before his body gave. He sank the floor, tears streaming down his face. The dead Veela's face, the dull thud of the child…the sickly green light coming out of his, _his_ wand. He shuddered for a moment before pulling his legs up. No, it wasn't him. He was asleep this whole time. It was a dream.

But it wasn't. And he knew it. It was much too real to be a dream. He could still feel the lingering touch of the leader's slap on his back. The sensation of the magic flowing down his arm. The sharp crack of the breaking door as he stepped on it, and the whimper he had heard at the same moment.

He took a shaky breath and stood up. He ambled toward the shower and turned the hot water to its maximum. He sighed as the searing hot water rushed down his back, through his hair, between his fingers…fingers that had held a long white wand…a wand that had murdered two Veela in cold blood. _His_.

* * *

Harry stumbled into the Transfiguration classroom, late. The classroom silenced and eyed him, some fearfully, some in awe. Glaring at the students, he made his way to the back, collapsing into the seat. He held his head in his hands a looked at the desk, hoping to see who was teaching. No one.

He looked around the room. Whoever was teaching was late as well. He sighed in relief, he wouldn't get punished for his tardiness.

His relief was quickly turned to horror as a familiar tall figure strode through the door, his magnificent sparkling robes wavering around him. Harry suppressed a groan as the venerable headmaster stood at the front of the class, his twinkling eyes surveying the class.

"As Professor McGonagall is currently recovering at St. Mungos, I will be taking this class," he said, smiling serenely. Harry nearly hit himself for his stupidity. The old man had mentioned he had taught Transfiguration before he became headmaster.

The headmaster continued.

"Advanced Transfiguration will explore beyond the material we learn in normal curriculum. We will delve into the finer points of the theory of Transfiguration before attempting any practical work. As such, I must regretfully ask that you put away your wands for the remainder of this lesson." At the collective groans that followed, the aged wizard smiled. "Don't worry; the next class will be almost entirely practical."

Harry looked at his Holly and Phoenix feather wand regretfully; it had somehow slipped in his hand when he had been confronted with the stares of the class. The black shaft was marred by several scratches as well as many oily smudges. He felt a touch of magic as he stroked it softly.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up. The headmaster was looking at him with a worried expression. Harry quickly slipped it away in his bag, making sure to leave the tip out should he be attacked.

The old mage stared at him some more before starting his lecture.

"As you all know, Transfiguration is the art of manipulating matter. Transfiguration covers many practices, from simply changing one object into another, altering the substance of an object, or, the hardest, conjuring something out of thin air…"

Harry quickly drowned him out, his mind wandering back to the episode he had experienced during the night. He closed his eyes in remembrance, before snapping them open again as he saw the dead Veela again. Looking around, he noticed everyone was taking notes. Grabbing some parchment and a quill, he jotted down the text on the chalkboard.

… **the three branches, conjuration is the most difficult. It requires the most power, and demands utmost concentration. One must visualize what one wants to conjure in order…**

…**size and shape are factors determining the difficulty of the object conjured. The material the object is composed of, and whether it is made of differing materials plays a major role as well. A greater size warrants a more difficult…**

"As you can see, several factors influence the difficulty of conjuration," the white haired headmaster said. "For example, objects…"

"…_made of wood are much easier to conjure than objects made of, say, iron. Metals are by principle much more difficult to transfigure, with the precious ones being almost impossible. Conjuring difficult materials such as metals depends more on power than on concentration, although a more focused mind does channel your magic more efficiently." The auburn haired wizard turned around. "Unfortunately, the amount of power you have is fixed, so you must make do with what you have been born with."_

_Harry raised his hand. _

"_Yes?" _

"_Are there any artificial means of increasing power?" Harry asked. Dumbledore shot him a worrying look before drawing himself up to answer. _

"_There are artificial means of increasing power; however they are dark, very dark. The power does not come for free; it requires a trade of some sort, often your humanity. Undergoing such rituals will leave you twisted, an inhuman shell of your former self. It is best not to speak of such subjects." Dumbledore looked at him intently over his half-moon spectacles before resuming his lecturing. _

"…conjuration is not achieved by most wizards. Many give up and pass it off as something only extremely gifted wizards can perform. While power does enhance your ability to conjure, great amounts of it isn't required to do it in simple proportions. In fact, many…"

"…_do not achieve it due to their failure to grasp the theory…" Harry drowned him out, thoughts on the rituals Dumbledore had inadvertently mentioned. Looking at his paper, he frowned. He had forgotten to take notes. Writing his name on the top corner, he wrote down the text on the board. It was an act really; he knew all this by heart. _

_Before long he was doodling on sides of the parchment, sketches of different ways he could get rid of his guardians back…well he wouldn't call it home. He was broken out of his reverie as a wand tapped on his desk. He traced the wand to its owner. Professor Dumbledore stood in front of his desk, looking at him sternly. _

"_Perhaps you can enlighten us on the finer points of Conjuration Theory?" the auburn haired man asked. _

Auburn? He looked at Dumbledore. His hair was white. Pure white in fact. He passed it off as a sign of his bad night. He stared at his paper once more. Doodles of rather disturbing ways to kill people filled the margins. Thinking of the Dursleys, he smiled happily as he added them to the collection.

"Mr. Potter? Perhaps you can describe how exactly conjured objects come into existence and how it relates to Transfiguration?" Dumbledore was looking at him sternly. Harry wiped the giddy smile of his face and looked up.

"_Certainly. Conjuration is not simply making things appear out of thin air. This is a common misconception. Rather, you are transfiguring the surrounding air into the desired object. As transfiguring millions of atoms and molecules in the air requires much concentration, it is often more difficult than transfiguring a single solid object into another. Also, because of its nature as a gas, it takes more power to change it into solid or liquid material. Due to large amount of power required, and the gaseous nature of the air, conjured objects typically fade away back into the original material unless they are made with deep concentration and with large amounts of magic."_

Professor Dumbledore gaped. This was not what he had expected at all. He was aiming to embarrass the daydreaming boy back into paying attention. Instead, he had answered the question he knew was impossible for a student at his level to answer. Only one other had ever answered that question…

"_Correct as always my boy," Dumbledore beamed at him. He had answered his impossible question. He turned back to the class. _

"That is…correct! A perfect answer, in fact!" Dumbledore beamed at his favorite student. He was full of surprises. "Fifteen points to Gryffindor! Now, it seems Mr. Potter has summarized the rest of the lesson. Would you care to demonstrate?"

"_Now, take out your wands. We must practice what we have learned…" Harry looked over to his bag, where his white wand stuck out, beckoning his touch. He yearned to lean over and hold it, to feel the power… "As you have demonstrated knowledge in this subject, would you care to demonstrate for the class?" Dumbledore continued. _

Harry nodded and reached toward his white wand. White? It was black, why white? Frowning, he snatched his wand out of his bag, reveling in the warmth that flowed through his hand.

_Stepping in front of the class, he cast the Professor an inquiring glance. _

_Anticipating his question, Dumbledore smiled._

"You will conjure an object in this room," the old man said.

_Harry frowned. Somehow the Professor always knew what he was thinking…_

Harry nodded and focused on the desk in front of him.

_Harry waved his wand and a swirling mass of energy came into existence in front of him before coalescing into a desk…_

… a perfect replica of the one in front of him. He looked around, seeing the whole room silenced. Dumbledore was looking at him with something akin to shock and pride. Harry nervously walked back to his seat, eyes surveying the awed class.

"_A perfect conjuration! That's another 15 points to…"_

"…Gryffindor!" He saw many of the other houses glaring at him, especially the Ravenclaws. He put his head down, avoiding the eyes of the headmaster and the other students.

_Harry watched, amused, as the other students failed miserably at conjuring simple blocks. He saw the headmaster watching him. Avoiding his eyes, he looked down at his parchment and proceeded to write down all he knew on the power increasing rituals he had been researching so long for. Class quickly ended and he was left behind, lost in thought. _

"A wonderful job today, Harry," Harry looked up at the headmaster before blushing. "I was wondering, however, where you had learned such material." He froze. He couldn't tell the man about the dreams he had. His mental health was already suspect.

_He mustn't know…_

"The Room of Requirement provided me with books on the subject. Conjuration seemed very useful so I studied it when I was planning for D.A. lessons," he lied. Since when could he lie so smoothly? Especially to the headmaster…He had never been able to lie to him very successfully before.

_That's because he uses legilmency…_

As soon as he thought it, he felt a small presence in his mind, a presence he was sure he should never have detected. He brought up his meager Occlumency shields to fend him off…

"_The Room of Requirement? A very useful room…But I must caution you against the knowledge the room provides…some of its materials are forbidden, dark…" Harry felt a tendril of something in his mind. It felt like…the headmaster was reading his mind…He had read about legilmency before, but it required a wand and a spoken incantation. "I implore you to keep the room a secret…" He felt it delve deeper and deeper into his mind, brushing against his darkest secrets…_

Harry's eyes widened as the headmaster slipped passed his shields and passed into his mind, brushing up against what appeared to be a wall…

_The headmaster plunged in, intent on finding out how far Harry had gone on his quest for new knowledge, worried about his aims…_

The wall broke. Images and sensations flooded his mind, memories rushing through, intertwining with his own. The world swirled and Harry found himself seeing two Dumbledores, one white haired, one auburn, himself holding two wands, one black, one white. And yet, it was the same. He fell back, clutching his desk tightly.

_You are worthless boy…_

_You have no name…_

_You worthless parents died…_

_Your whore of a mother left you with us…_

"NO!" Harry cried, pushing Dumbledore away with a burst of magic. The headmaster flew through the air, crashing back into his desk.

_Harry stood, his wand in front of him, leveled at a distraught mother. He smiled. _

"_Imperio!"_

_The mother raised the knife in her hand, cornering her baby. She plunged it down…_

_Harry, sitting in his cupboard, shivering in fear. Uncle Vernon opened the door, a belt in his hand…_

_A terrified woman lay beneath him, sobbing in shame and fear…_

_A rotund Dudley, throwing a bowling ball at his arm…the sharp crack that filled the air…_

_A brown robed figure, sitting on a throne. Harry kissed the hem of his robes. The Dark Lord sneering at him and putting him under the Cruciatus until his nose bled and his robes were wet…_

Harry gasped, shaking. He fought through the stream of memories. His arm gave a short spasm as he got up to his feet. Walking to his desk shakily, he grabbed his bag. He needed to get away…

…_get away from the headmaster, the evil old man…the untrusting evil old man…pain…memories…not mine…mine?...who am I?..._

_Grabbing his wand and clutching the parchment of notes, he tore out the room, leaving a disappointed old man behind._

Harry tore out the room, smashing into a first year. The small boy crashed into the wall, his head bleeding. Harry took no notice and ran off, away from Dumbledore, away from the memories…

He took a left, blindly following his instinct to _go far away, away…alone…_

His efforts paid off as he crashed into a dead end somewhere in the bowls of Hogwarts.

Harry looked around wildly, trying to discern the position of his obstacle. Black spots dotted his vision.

_Harry flew back into the wall as the caretaker smashed his fist in Harry's face…_

_He looked around, stepping away from the heavyset man approaching him…his fist clenched…_

As Harry looked around, delirious, he noticed the parchment in his hand…there was writing on top right, it looked like a name. Was it his? He strained his failing sight, fighting against unconciousness.

The writing looked elegant, the lines wispy and clean…

Before the darkness enveloped him completely, he made out two words…

'_Tom Riddle'_

* * *

**A/N:** Some small alterations to the original text were made. Critique is appreciated.

Please Review!

Amerision


	3. Identity

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** This chapter may be VERY confusing. Read between the lines. What's happening? All I will tell you before you read the chapter is this:

There is no 'Harry Potter' AND 'Tom Riddle' in Harry's head living separately. They don't 'take control' of the body. There is only one big one consciousness in there.

Movie reference alert.

* * *

Chapter 3 – Identity

* * *

_You have names for everything? _

_Yes, society always needs to categorize things, put them in its place. _

_But what happens when you can't? _

_You can't categorize anything. Nothing, everything, its all here, why put it in some box and label it? The world isn't black and white, its red, blue, green. I'm Robert, Thomas, GHANDI. _

_You put someone in that category, you make them. They're not who they are, they are who you made them out to be. _

_There was a time when the subject defined the word. Now the word defines the subject._

* * *

"Albus?"

The old wizard looked away from the unconscious boy in the bed next to his to the healer that was fussing with the bandages across his chest. Taking in a painful breath, he answered.

"Yes Poppy?"

The witch looked worriedly at him. The headmaster had come to the hospital wing frantic with a fractured arm and three broken ribs carrying the Boy-Who-Lived.

"What happened?"

Dumbledore sighed, debating whether to tell the truth. It _had_ been his fault after all. After wrongfully invading the boy's mind and getting thrown back by the burst of accidental magic, he had scoured the school, searching for him. Judging by what he had seen in his mind before getting rejected, Harry Potter had been in a near mental breakdown. He had ambled for hours, before Hogwarts decided to point him in the right direction. She hadn't been very happy with him.

The old mage took a deep breath before reciting the lie, no, _half-truth_, he had been feeding the medi-witch for the past half-hour.

"Well, Mr. Potter had a burst of accidental magic…"

* * *

A raven-haired youth woke up to the sound of laughter, something that had evaded him much of his very long life. Scowling at the passing student, he stretched. Blinking tiredly, he looked over to see his transfiguration professor sleeping soundly in the bed next to his. It seemed the old man did sleep after all, with all the hounding the man did in regards to everything he did. He looked older, however…no, he looked fine. Being the headmaster for someone of one hundred and fifty-six years of age wasn't easy at all.

Headmaster? No, that old fool Dippet was headmaster.

Shaking his head, he got up, looking for his clothes. Spotting them on the chair next to him, he took them and proceeded to dress himself. He frowned at the red and gold badge for a moment. That wasn't there before, was it?

Deciding to let it go for now, he quickly put on his trainers and headed for the door.

Unfortunately, the healer came out at that moment and accosted him.

"Don't you leave yet, young man! Let me check you over…"

The boy frowned. Who was this? Where was Healer Frowlith? The old woman went on to poke him with her wand and cast spells on him.

"…always coming in here at the end of the year. Can't you ever stay out of the hospital wing? Why, I finally gave you your own…"

He was puzzled. Who was this woman? Madam Pomfrey? Yes, that was it. But he never visited the hospital wing, not after first year. But there was this incident…something like a dark chamber. It was hazy. The Chamber of Secrets? Yes, he had opened it after all this year. Blamed it on that oaf. But he hadn't gone the hospital wing for it.

"…you're lucky this time. The Express is leaving in twenty minutes. If you hurry, you should be able to make it…"

He had been out for a week then, if the train left today. Not that it would be that bad to miss it. But that would only cause more trouble. Scarnen would be furious…and Aunt Petunia would probably neglect to feed him even more.

He gave his thanks to the healer, giving her a sincere looking smile. It wouldn't do well to get on her bad side after all. You should always charm your way into the hearts of people with power. The healer was probably a respected figure, judging by the way she fussed over everyone. It wouldn't do well to get on her bad side.

He ran out the door and headed toward the dungeons, taking shortcuts to get there faster. The school looked a bit different than he remembered…

He came out of a hidden passage and strode toward the Slytherin House entrance, where he assumed his bags were kept. Before he made it to the portrait, however, a blonde boy walked out, a perpetual sneer on his face. He looked familiar.

"Lucius?"

The boy looked up at him and scowled in recognition.

"That's my father, idiot! You have nerve, scar face. Coming down here and calling me by my father's name. No thanks to you, he's in Azkaban!"

The boy, Draco he realized now, pushed by him roughly and walked off.

Resisting the urge to torture his housemate, he walked toward the portrait. He stood there, bewildered. He was sure the picture hadn't there before, it used to a bare stone wall…Thankfully, it was one of Salazar Slytherin. The man looked up from his work.

"Tom? No, you're that Gryffindor. You look alike…" the founder trailed off, before narrowing his eyes at him. "A parselmouth too, I hear? How did you get into Gryffindor, my boy? It's a trait born only to my kin!"

The boy shrugged.

"Well, the hat said I would do well in Slytherin…but I begged it to put me Gryffindor because I got a bad impression of it from Draco Malfoy," he replied. Wait…it was the other way around. Wasn't it? He had begged it to put him in Slytherin!

The black haired man nodded. "Ah, that Malfoy boy. A disgrace to Slytherin, I say. A pity you weren't in this house, you'd bring some honor back to my line…Now, what do you want?"

"I was going to get my bags…"

"You're belongings are in the Room of Requirement, are they not? Margaret, the Fat Lady, told me you were avoiding Gryffindor Tower. I don't blame you, annoying idiots they are… But go now! The train is leaving soon!"

The boy nodded. Yes, his things were in the Room of Requirement. How had he forgotten?

* * *

Making it just on time, the fifth year walked onto the platform and boarded the scarlet train just as the conductor blew the whistle. He had a love/hate relationship with the locomotive. On one hand, he loved it. It was his ticket to freedom, to Hogwarts. On the other, he despised with every fiber of his being. Now was one of those times. The wretched locomotive took him back to the orphanage, Number Four Privet Drive. Back to Caretaker, Vernon, and the brutish orphans, especially Dudley. How he hated Dudley…he could easily imagine eviscerating him. He gave a sadistic grin. Oh the fun…

His musings were interrupted as he plowed into a fellow Gryffindor who had left his compartment. Seamus Finnegan, probably a mudblood, fell to the ground, sprawled against the door.

He went to his fallen form and looked down at his dorm mate.

"Watch your step, Finnegan. It might lead to an early demise," he said threateningly. The boy looked up at him before gasping.

"Don't man, I'm sorry, just please…"

Finnegan backed up against the opposite wall, still on the floor. He looked at him fearfully. The students in the surrounding compartments looked on, frozen in their place.

Giving a sneer, he stormed off. The Gryffindor had ridiculed him endlessly over the year, calling him insane. He briefly entertained himself with the mudblood getting torn to pieces by Aaedalus, the basilisk he had let loose on the school during the year.

Seamus looked at the retreating figure and breathed a sigh of relief. Harry had looked like the figure that haunted his dreams, the one where he last saw his father. Those ruby eyes…he shuddered. Gathering his bags, he walked away shakily.

* * *

Ron and Hermione sat alone with Neville and Luna, wondering where Harry was. They had heard of the incident with Seamus and were a little apprehensive of his showing. It seemed unlikely he would show, however, as they had left Hogwarts over an hour ago.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville sat in silence, contemplating their friend. After nearly beheading Neville, he had run off, only to been seen be Ron helping Colin Creevey off the floor the following day. Colin hadn't remembered what happened to him. Now, Harry had been found threatening the life of a fearful Seamus. The normally outspoken Irish boy refused to talk about the raven haired youth, glancing away sharply at the mention of his name.

Something was wrong with Harry. They feared for his sanity.

* * *

The boy sat in an empty compartment, staring out at the passing scenery. The sky had darkened since he had boarded, bringing with it rain. He wondered who would fetch him in the miserable weather. He hoped it wasn't Scarnen; the man would probably blame it on him. But, beside Vernon, who else did he have? He hated being dependent on them, but he recognized the necessity of recharging the wards. While he disliked the orphanage, he needed to be in his Aunt's presence to continue his mother's protections on the house.

It would keep him alive from Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself to a certain extent. Voldemort, with his blood running through his veins could breach the wards; however the effort in doing so would leave him too exhausted to do much more. The small trace of his blood allowed the Dark Lord passage, but since it was not pure, mixed with Pettigrew's and his own as it was, it was extremely draining.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door slid open, revealing an anxious looking Ronald Weasley along with Hermione Granger. Neville had apparently fearfully declined.

"Uh, hey mate…how are you?" Ron said nervously. The possible scenarios they had gone over so far were less than promising for their friend's mind.

The boy looked up at the tall gangly redhead and the bushy haired witch. He stayed silent for a moment, unsure on how to proceed.

_Ron…and Hermione…_

Ron. Hermione. They were friends, of that he was sure…but he could not remember being with them. Their names suddenly seemed odd, surreal almost. The pair seemed to be awaiting his response.

"Hello…Ron. Hermione," he nodded at each of them. The two nodded back, sitting down across from him. They hadn't missed the unanswered question.

Ron and Hermione sat quietly for a few minutes before starting meaningless chatter with each other, sending glances his way. The boy ignored them watching the land pass by. The rain came in torrents now, lightning flashing across the sky.

It was only getting worse.

* * *

A dark cloaked figure stepped off the train, intent of leaving his two minders behind. They were extremely irritating, constantly trying to draw him into a conversation. If he hadn't been surrounded by so many witnesses, the two would have been little more than quivering pieces of mass.

Spotting Scarnen ahead, he moved toward his relatives. As usual, they were looking down on him disdainfully, like a common mudblood. He didn't bother to respond to their goading. If he stayed calm and respectful, they wouldn't have a reason to punish him.

When he had reached their side, he saw them surrounded by an assortment of people.

There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak.

Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair wet from the rain, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend _The Weird Sisters_.

Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers.

Behind them all stood Arthur Weasley in his Muggle best.

The four had cornered the Dursleys and were engaged in a fierce argument. Vernon's face had gone a deep purple, and he jabbed his finger at Moody.

"Now see here…"

The ex-Auror swatted his hand away and leaned forward, growling.

"Shut up, Dursley. If we find _any _evidence he's been mistreated in any way, there won't be anything left of you by the time I've had my fun."

Vernon paled, stepping back. Giving the obese man a terrifying smile, the man turned around and limped toward him, signaling over his companions.

"Don't worry about them, lad. They won't be giving you any trouble this summer. If they do, owl us and we'll straighten them up. Painfully."

The Order member gave him a sadistic grin. It was obvious the man wished them to misbehave. It wasn't at all surprising. Mad-Eye Moody, while being a fearsome Dark Wizard hunter, was only a step shy from Dark himself. During his time in the war, he had captured or killed hundreds of Death Eaters, his methods brutal but effective, resorting to torture without a second thought. Many compared him to Bella, but she was a bit more psychotic.

Shaking the thought away, he quickly thanked the four and headed toward his relatives, enjoying their flinch when he walked past them.

* * *

The ride back to Privet Drive was uneventful, consisting of glares from Vernon and Petunia, and, to his delight, Dudley's terrified looks. He took pleasure in reciting various spells under his breath and making sudden moves to scare him.

By the time they had pulled into the driveway, the obese boy had been reduced to a whimpering mass of fat. He gave his cousin a cold smile that promised endless pain should the filthy muggle ever cross him.

Exiting the car, he took his trunk out of the car with great difficulty. The rest of the Dursleys simply walked into the house, ignoring him completely. Lifting the heavy luggage, he carried it into the house and inside his room.

Placing Hedwig's cage on the dresser, he opened it up and let the snowy owl fly out to hunt.

Turning back to his trunk, he unlocked it and opened it up. On top of all his clothes lay his wand. Underneath his wand was a note in a familiar loopy handwriting.

_I must admit using Legilmency on you was not a very good idea. I have no other excuse than simple curiosity on how you were dealing with events and the extent of your knowledge in Transfiguration. Years of caution has made it simple habit to check unguarded minds for withheld information. I am afraid this habit has extended beyond reasonable caution and is now an unconscious habit. For that, I am sorry. _

_Your reaction to my probing, however, worries me more. I have done many things that I have regretted in my life. However, none surpass your placement with the Dursleys. Was it not for your Aunt's blood and the protection that it offers through your mother's sacrifice, you would be removed immediately and your family, if they can be called that, locked away. Rest assured that Moody will be especially vigilant this summer. He is looking for excuses._

_Professor Snape has reported that Tom is planning something important. He does not have any concrete information, but he does know that it only partly centers on you. It seems Tom has revised his original intentions regarding yourself, seeking to turn you if possible. I suspect that he has considered you a possible threat, no longer just a disgrace to his history. I do not know how he plans to accomplish this feat, however I will not takes chances with your life. You will be unable to leave the confines of the wards for the remainder of the summer. Due to the hostility between yourself and your family, the wards have diminished in size and now encompass only the block and a portion of the park. I would rather you not leave the house, however I cannot in good conscience keep you indoors for the entire summer. _

_On a lighter note, I was most impressed with your skills in Transfiguration. Few can accomplish a conjuration of that magnitude at your age. Then again, you were never like the rest, were you? _

_Keep well, and do write to your friends. New wards have been implemented to allow safe exchange of letters to them. They anxiously await news of you, especially young Ginerva. _

_A.D._

The boy blinked.

Young Ginerva? So Ginny had had enough of Dean, Corner, and the others and it was now his turn?

Not a chance. He had a sneaking suspicion the girl was trying to make him jealous by dating all the various boys she had. The youngest Weasley always made it clearly known to the world that she was going out with someone, especially when she was around him.

The fact that he could not leave the premises wasn't too surprising. Scarnen never let him leave the land around the orphanage anyways, so it wasn't anything new.

Coming from his Transfiguration Professor, the praise meant much, however it was a bit strange. Dumbledore had been suspicious and wary of him since he had opened the Chamber after winter beak. Why would he compliment him?

Also, why would he kidnap himself?

* * *

The headmaster of Hogwarts sat down with a deep groan. His back had started to hurt since the duel with Tom, and it had not let up since. Albus chalked it up to old age.

Time was worthy opponent, a very determined one at that. One could say that it was undefeated. However, his old student was most determined to change that. Albus sighed.

Where had he gone wrong?

He had asked himself this question repeatedly over the years, wondering if he could have prevented Tom Riddle from becoming Lord Voldemort.

People often looked at Albus for leadership. They wanted an unshakable leader of the light, someone they could go to when all their mistakes had grown too large to handle.

They wanted a hero, someone who was above evil, greed, and most importantly mistakes. They wanted someone to take responsibility, someone to blame when everything went wrong. It was this way people could stay innocent, stay out of fault. You could blame the hero; he didn't stop it from happening.

When you became a hero, you could not make mistakes. And, after long, the hero believed it too. It became hard to accept failure, to move on, because heroes could not fall. If you did, there was no reprieve.

But Headmaster Albus Dumbledore made mistakes just like the rest of them, some of them relentlessly haunting his dreams.

He remembered a twelve year old Tom Riddle begging him to let him stay at Hogwarts, away from all the abuse.

He remembered the desperation in his voice, the tears in his eyes.

He wondered what would have happened if he had just said yes. Would Tom have turned? Would he have grown into the twisted monster he was today? But it wasn't the fact that he said no that haunted him the most.

It was another twelve year old boy he had said no to three years before.

It could not happen again.

* * *

With insomnia, nothing's real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy, of a copy, of a copy. You're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.

His state of semi-lucidness had gotten worse as time worn on. He had found himself murdering, torturing, raping…and then blinking only to find himself staring at himself in the mirror.

_Wishful thinking…_

His nights had been filled with various snippets of his childhood, nights in a cold cupboard, getting beat up by the other children…

The orphan Dudley reminded him of Dennis Bishop, the boy who had tormented him mercilessly over the years. That was until he had trapped him and another girl into the cave and had his fun with them…

The young wizard got up from his bed and stood in front of the mirror. He looked…different. Something was off about his appearance, but it seemed right in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

Even his caretakers had noticed. Scarnen and Petunia had kept staring at him since he had arrived. Their stares of curiosity, however, were quickly turned to sneers once they had adjusted to his presence. No doubt they were reminded of his _burden_ on them. For the past four days they had done nothing but scowl at him, restrained hate in their eyes.

Within hours after unpacking, Vernon had come into his room and started a tirade on how much of a worthless freak he was and how undeserving he was of their kindness. Next he had demanded that he 'pull his weight' and perform a long list of chores, most of them completely arbitrary.

The boy had simply raised an eyebrow and calmly reminded him of the grizzled ex-Auror outside that was itching to tear them apart.

Scarnen had turned an ugly shade of purple, threatened his life in largely uncreative ways, and stormed out. The rest of the day had consisted of 'accidents' on Dudley's part, and suspiciously overcooked food from Petunia.

The worthless muggles were quickly getting on his nerves. He had avoided touching his wand entirely to resist temptation. It was sitting on his desk, beckoning him forth, promising satisfying revenge. But it wouldn't do well to get sent to Azkaban.

How he longed to touch his wand, feel its power rush through him as he relentlessly tortured Vernon and Caretaker. He ached to hear their scream of pain, saliva frothing from their mouths…

"_Where is he?" he said quietly at the quivering man at his feet. They had caught him in the Dark Forests of Germany. The Dark Forests were among the unexplored areas of the world, home to vampires, werewolves, and various other magical creatures. Wizards were rarely welcome. Muggles didn't even know it existed. _

"_I…I don't know! I swear!" the Finnish scout said desperately. He had been negotiating with the centaurs, trying to build up the Allied forces. Unfortunately, he had angered the herd, garnering the attention of the Dark Lord's spies. _

_The raven haired young man viciously kicked him in the stomach, before blanching. His street fighting skills learned from the orphanage were still with him, a remnant of his shameful muggle past. _

_Dumbledore had confronted his Master a few days ago. The duel had been magnificent, and Dumbledore had nearly won, but Grindelwald had caught him unawares with a bludgeoning curse to his nose and had gotten the upper hand. His former Professor had been forced to retreat, severely injured. He had been last seen recovering in Switzerland. _

_The Dark Lord had personally sent him to locate Dumbledore. As Grindelwald's top assassin, he was very persuasive. _

"_Oh? Perhaps this will help you recover," he said, a cold smile on his face. He enjoyed his work immensely. _

_Leveling his wand at the enemy, he felt his magic gathering in preparation. _

"Dermis Cuticula,_"_ _he said, and a dark grey beam of light rushed out and hit the prisoner. He watched, utterly fascinated as layers of skin were torn off the man's body, soaking the floor with blood. The man screamed in pain as his muscles revealed themselves, shaking in pain. _

_Waving his wand and muttering the counter-curse, the skin came back on again. The man broke down completely and started sobbing. _

"_I'll ask once more. Where is he?" _

_The man was too delirious to speak. He knew the captive did not know the location; a quick legilmency scan had showed that. However, the opportunity was too good to pass up. It wasn't often you got to torture someone for pure enjoyment. _

_He looked at his watch. It was getting late. Well, he might as well finish it off. _

"Crucio!_" he shouted, and watched in glee as the curse connected with the huddled man. He let out a small sigh as the pleasure racked his body, driving him to ecstasy. The man's screams flowed through the air, causing him to break in a wide grin. The sound increased in volume as every single neuron in the man's body fired. The screams reached a beautiful crescendo before cutting off completely. The pleasure went with it. _

_Annoyed, he kicked the brain dead man again for not lasting longer. _

_Pity. _

He shook himself out of the dream. Yes, it would be satisfying. If only he could remove the tracking charms on his wand… He knew the incantation; however, he needed another wand to perform it. It was too complex to be done wand-less.

A small pop alerted him to an Order member apparating in.

He walked over to the window, looking for the characteristic shimmer. After a few seconds of searching, he spotted it at the edge of the garden. Focusing his eyes a bit, the shimmer disappeared and he saw through the cloak.

It looked like Tonks was on duty that day. This was confirmed when she stumbled over a root from one of the nearby trees and fell onto the path leading to the house. Still invisible, she gave off an exasperated groan.

Forming a plan, he quickly grabbed his wand and placed it up his sleeve. Running down the stairs, he quickly made his way across the kitchen and stepped out the backdoor. The raven haired teenager walked over and purposefully stepped on the recovering Auror. He crashed downwards onto the pink haired witch and they fell back onto the pathway.

The invisibility cloak slipped off, revealing a slender body and a tear stained, heart shaped face. She had been crying recently, as judged by the puffy red eyes. He briefly wondered why, before crushing the thought and proceeding with his plan.

Tonks was still a bit dazed, shaking her head. The young wizard spotted her wand lying a few feet away. He rolled off the beautiful metamorphmagus and onto the wand, swiftly placing it up his sleeve.

He then got up and walked over to the fallen Order member, offering her a hand. Tonks accepted the help and got up, swaying a bit. It looked like she had hit her head.

"Sorry Tonks, are you all right?" he asked, feigning concern. While she answered, he withdrew both wands behind his back and tapped his own, muttering an incantation. A soft glow surrounded his wand before disappearing. Satisfied, he quickly replaced his wand back in his sleeve.

"I'm all right…what did you say?" she asked, voice hoarse and eyeing him suspiciously. "And where is my wand?" She looked down at the grass around her, searching for it.

The boy gave her a reassuring smile.

"I said I have your wand," he said, offering Tonks the wand handle first. Tonks looked up, a relieved expression on her face. She took the wand and slipped in back into her holster.

"Oh, thank you," she said gratefully. "Well, I'll be…guarding you then." She gave him nod and picked up her invisibility cloak, slipping it on. He nodded back and turned around, heading back to the house with a triumphant expression on his face.

Tonks looked at the retreating figure of the boy-who-lived. Something had happened, of that she was sure. Harry had purposefully come out. But for what?

Did he want to talk about Sirius? Perhaps he wanted to see who was guarding him?

She doubted it. Harry didn't strike her as someone who cared. And by the looks of him, he seemed to be in denial. She looked at her wand. Harry had had it in hand. Maybe he wanted to use it?

No, he had given it back. What could he possibly do with her wand?

* * *

Days later, the young wizard stared at the innocuous piece of wood sitting innocently on his bedside table. The wand was mocking him.

He growled. It was maddening. He couldn't bring himself to hurt his relatives. Something held him back every time he tried. Morals perhaps?

It was either that…or Alastor Moody's frequent patrols. The man's magic eyeball allowed him to see beyond the walls. He guessed it wouldn't have done well if the ex-Auror found him laughing over three bloody corpses, wand in hand.

No, he would have to suffer. Just like at the orphanage.

He glanced outside. It was a beautiful sunny day, and it seemed like a waste to stay inside. If nothing else, it would annoy Moody.

Giving the wand one last glance, he changed into summer attire and left for the park. Walking out the front door, he tried to locate his minder.

No luck. The man was too good.

Getting on the sidewalk, he slowed down a bit, enjoying the sun's rays on his skin. Warmth spread through his body, washing away all his worries. It wasn't often he left the orphanage's walls during the summer. He was going to savor the moment.

He passed by several houses before reaching Arabella Figg's modest home. He knew the old woman well. Her husband, Jonathan Figg, had served in the Order of the Phoenix during the first war. The man had taken out several Death Eaters until one of his inner circle shot off a bone crushing curse at his head.

He grinned. It had been a beautiful sight, one that had provided enough moral for his forces to crush the resistance. The death of the legendary dueler had been a major set back for them. Arabella had been devastated, pledging herself into the Order in her husband's place. Not that she was much use. Being a squib tended to hamper one's abilities.

Minutes later, he strode into the park. Spotting the swings, he headed toward his favorite spot. Sitting on the swing on the far right was a little girl of perhaps nine years of age. She swung nonchalantly, a dreamy expression on her face not unlike Luna Lovegood.

Taking the swing next to her, he studied her. She was wearing a white skirt along with a white blouse, fake rings on her small fingers. A necklace made of large beads adorned her neck. Most striking was her white blonde hair. It flowed behind her in a wispy, carefree manner like a halo.

She noticed him staring and stopped swinging, a smile on her face.

"Hello, how are you?"

He opened his mouth to answer before shutting it.

How was he?

For the first time in a long while, the young wizard was stumped. He had tortured hundreds, killed even more. He had slew a Basilisk, and faced off against a Dark Lord multiple times. But now, he found himself unable to speak.

This simple question posed by this little girl had shattered the emotional detachment he had been practicing since he had come back to the orphanage. Gone was his whole mindset and with it his feigned calm. He felt a bit of resentment against the young blonde for doing this to him.

The girl sat patiently, watching him cycle through a range of emotions.

Not able to answer, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I…uh…I don't know," he admitted. It was pathetic. A simple muggle child had reduced him to a blabbering wreck. He felt deeply ashamed.

The girl kept smiling. It was getting annoying. He wondered what it would take to wipe that knowing smile off. Perhaps he could tear it off physically? No, that was too muggle…Then again, he did know this fascinating curse…

"You know, my mummy always tells me to look inside before answering. She says that people like to ignore what's inside sometimes. Why don't you try that?" the girl asked, looked at him unblinkingly.

He was getting a bit unnerved by the girl.

"I –"

The girl leaned forward and placed a finger to his lips.

"Shhh…tell me later. It's not like you can see it now, right?" And with that, she hopped off the swing and skipped away.

The dark haired teenager just watched her go, at a loss of words.

* * *

Emerald eyes stared at a blank wall. Their owner sat on his bed, contemplating wise words. He had come back the next week, and the week after that. A whole month had passed, and each time he had been unable to answer. And every time he did that, the girl just looked at him with a disappointed expression, and kept repeating the same response.

"_You're not looking deep enough," she said sadly. _

"_What?" _

"_You'll know when you do. Mummy said so." _

And with that, she would leave.

Such simplicity, such innocence had shattered him. And, she was right. He had been avoiding what was inside. He had busied himself since he came back indulging into dreams or satisfying himself by plotting revenge against Caretaker and Vernon.

He had spent the entire day contemplating his situation and position in life.

In truth, he felt deeply conflicted, like he didn't know who he was. Strange things had been happening to him, but he couldn't focus long enough to properly address them before he was swept off in another daydream. One particularly pleasurable one had ended three hours later in a cold shower and a change of clothes.

He still had echoes in his ears of that one…

Wiping the wistful grin from his face, he shook himself from his stupor. It was so easy to get distracted. Looking at his bedside alarm clock, he checked the time.

It was half past six. Time to meet the girl.

He didn't even know her name, yet here he was setting regular times to meet with her. He couldn't help it. He was desperate to know.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting beside the girl, swinging half-heartedly. She was humming a soothing melody, a familiar one. He couldn't remember where he had heard it before, but he soon found himself humming the same tune. After waiting patiently for some time, the girl finally turned to him.

"So, how are you?" she asked, this time a knowing glint in her eyes.

But before he could recite what he had carefully rehearsed, he blurted out an answer.

"I don't know myself anymore! I don't who I am, how I feel, why I act, nothing!" he said, nearly shouting. But right then he realized what he said and clamped his mouth shut, reddening.

The girl gave him a grin.

"See? You've got it!" she exclaimed excitedly.

He felt something tug at his lips before he ruthlessly suppressed it.

"But why? Why don't I know?"

The young muggle sat silent for a moment, pondering. She looked at him after a moment before answering.

"Well, whenever I feel bad about myself, or feel lost, mummy tells me to hold something special to me. She tells me to hold something that tells people who I am. And from that, you can get to know yourself…who you are," she replied. "Do you have something like that?"

Did he? The boy didn't have many personal possessions. Half of his clothes belonged to Dudley. The rest of them were wizarding robes or uniforms. They didn't mean much to him, they were pretty standard. His Firebolt was still at Hogwarts somewhere. What meant the most to him, identified who he was?

An image of his wand came to mind. Of course! What else could identify him better than his wand? The wand chooses the wizard, after all.

Giving the girl a small smile, he said he did.

"Good! Now what are you waiting for? Come back and tell me who you are!" she laughed.

Who he was…yes. He would like to know that. But as he turned to run back the Dursley's, he realized something. This girl that had helped him so much…he didn't even know her name.

"What's your name, by the way?" he asked, turning back around.

"Why, I thought you'd never ask! I'm Lucille! Now go!" All trace of her dreamy self had evaporated, leaving a bubbly, cheerful nine year old behind.

Turning back again, he ran back the Dursley's. Tearing down the sidewalk, he got there within minutes. The boy threw open the door to his room and stepped in. Resting on the dresser was his wand.

His heart racing, he moved towards it. He extended his arm, lightly brushing the shaft.

Nothing.

The usual tingling sensation was gone. Where had it gone?

Grasping it completely, he looked at it in despair. It felt like a normal piece of wood.

Come to think of it, he hadn't noticed its magic when he had removed the charms either.

Frantic, he gave it a wave, pouring magic into the dead wand.

A wave of power ran through his arm, making his hair stand on end. Various colors poured off the wandtip, green and red battling for dominance. An aura appeared around him, swirling the air, blowing off all the parchment on his desk.

It was like the first day he had held his wand, the day his companion had joined him on his quest.

Something rushed through him at that moment, leaving him nauseous.

His wand, Yew, Phoenix Tail Feather, 13 ½ inches…? No…Holly, Phoenix Tail Feather, 11 inches, Holly, Phoenix Tail Feather, 11 inches, Holly, Phoenix Tail Feather, 11 inches,

His name Tom…

No… Holly, Phoenix Tail Feather, 11 inches…

_Harry…_

_Harry James Potter…_

A sudden realization crashed over him. It felt like a blindfold was lifted off his eyes. The sun shined and the world burst back into color. Harry felt a presence in his mind retreating beneath the surface, pushing back every so often.

He let out a breath he had been holding, slumping back onto his bed.

His name was Harry James Potter

His wand Holly, Phoenix Tail Feather, 11 inches.

His destiny…to Kill or be Killed.

He was back.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew walked down the dark corridor, responding to a personal summon. Archaic portraits littered the walls, depicting gruesome massacres. A deep green carpet ran the length of the passage, sown snakes slithering mindlessly up and down the plush, hand-sown heirloom of the Slytherin family.

The place exuded an aura of dark, hidden power, from the dim torches to the various concealed chambers. This was the Dark Lord's base of operations. No one knew where it was, Death Eaters simply apparated in, guided by the Dark Mark.

Passing by a set of guards posted at the entry to his Lord's chamber room, he knocked on the door. Ignoring the sneering men, he opened the door at the sound of a shrill 'Enter'.

Peter was always looked down upon, seen as a pitiful coward. He was often seen as weak, both magically and emotionally. The Marauders had taken him in, feeling sorry for him. Everyone had felt bad for poor, stupid Peter Pettigrew.

And he had kept it that way.

Peter was anything but weak and stupid. The mere fact that he had become an animagus was a testament to his magical power. It took a fairly powerful wizard to become one.

Peter had fooled everyone. Even Albus Dumbledore. He had been part of the Order for a full year before he had betrayed the location of the Potters. And all of that time he had spent in the service of Lord Voldemort.

Learning Occlumency, he had blocked off any traitorous thoughts from Dumbledore and gave off mostly scared, confused, and excited emotions. Nobody had thought to look deeper; he was, after all, Peter Pettigrew.

Even now, with his treachery displayed, everyone subconsciously classified Peter as a weakling. This was attributed to his nervous persona, slight slouch, and high pitched, squeaky voice.

No one had recognized his hidden worth, intelligence, his cunning.

No one except his master, that was.

Recognizing his usefulness, he was quickly recruited. After the Dark Lord's downfall, Peter had been lost. Lying in wait for his Master to return, he had quietly bided his time, spying on Arthur Weasley, a prominent Order member, for any news of Voldemort.

Once he had heard of his Lord's exploits at Hogwarts during Ronald's first and second year, he had begun disappearing periodically from the castle, looking for clues to point him to his master. He wasn't overly loyal, but was determined to rise through the ranks, to prove his worth. What better way than restoring him back to life?

After he was discovered by Sirius and Remus, he had abandoned all pretense and went to the last known location of Voldemort's spirit, where he restored him to his body the following year.

And now, he was in a favorable position. Not in the Inner Circle, he avoided all combat, yet he held a position of power as the Dark Lord's right hand.

Yes, life was good.

"So good to see you again, Wormtail," his master hissed. "It's time."

* * *

Harry ran down the stairs, his life beginning anew. It was six thirty again, time to meet Lucille. Opening the door, he walked down the street, worries washed away. Behind him, Hestia Jones crept forward, hidden under an invisibility cloak.

She was moving house to house, scanning the area for any possible threats before relaxing.

She never understood the need to protect Harry Potter to such a degree. Sure, he was a target; he was a disgrace to the Dark Lord's power.

But why did Dumbledore see it fit to assign him personal guard detail? Not only that, but at any moment, there were three Order members on call to apparate to the house in case of an attack.

He was a figurehead, that she gave, but wouldn't it be more useful to go on missions?

She shook her head. Waste of time, it was.

In her pondering, she never noticed the black cloaked figure sneaking up behind her.

Nor did she see the wand drawn.

Her musings were cut short by a flash of green light.

* * *

Petunia Dursley stood, washing the dishes, scowling at the loss of her personal slave. The wretched wizards had forbidden them from assigning chores to the freak. She hated him with every fiber of her being, for being Lily's son, and, most importantly, for being one of _them_.

How she loathed them, their clothes, mannerisms, and mag- no, freakishness.

Petunia set down the plate on the counter harshly.

How dare they? How dare she? How dare her sister _die _on her, and leave her worthless spawn with her proper, _normal _family?

When they had taken him in, she and Vernon had sworn to raise the child normally, to stamp out his abnormality. At best he would become cashier, paying taxes, and living a proper life.

If that included leaving him in a cupboard under the stairs, then so be it. He would come back later and thank them.

But he had gotten worse. The damned letter had come. The one that had ruined her life.

Oh, her parents had been so happy. Their daughter _Lily_, a _witch_! Petunia had watched from the shadows, seeing her parents talking happily about Lily, how proud they were. They never had time for Petunia. She had watched Lily come back each year, bursting with stories of Hogwarts. And her parents had listened, all ears.

Hogwarts this, Hogwarts that.

She cringed.

Lily had married a handsome man, lived a happy life in a wonderful wor – no, an evil, world of freakishness.

And now, she watched it happen all over. Harry, no, _it_, came back each year, bigger, better, mostly happy.

And here she was, washing dishes. Married to a fat pig, raising an equally obese bully. Just like his abusive father. Looking at the two bags of fat lounging on the couch, she sighed.

How had it come to this?

Her moment of self-pity was interrupted by a flash of red light behind her.

* * *

Harry stepped into the park, blissfully unaware of the loss of bodyguard and the attack on his Aunt. He was excited at seeing Lucille and finally passing her test. It had taken a while, but the muggle girl's advice had helped him establish himself.

Separating himself from Lord Voldemort's persona had been difficult, and he hadn't really succeeded. It was still there, lurking beneath the surface. He could feel it slowly merging with himself, becoming one. The connection was growing stronger.

He knew he should be disgusted, even horrified at some of the things the persona brought with it. But he wasn't.

Something inside him guiltily enjoyed them.

He had never known there were so many ways you could torture a man with just kitchenware…

Clearing his head, he walked toward the southern edge of the park.

The sky was dark and foreboding; it was bound to rain again. The tall trees around the park cast shadowy specters on swaying grass. Something was amiss, he could feel it.

Ignoring it, he made his way to the abandoned playground.

He smiled, seeing the dreamy girl swinging away nonchalant. Taking the swing beside her as he always did, he waited until she finished.

"Did you find yourself?" she asked, eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Yes," he replied, breaking into a broad grin.

"And who are you?"

"I'm Harry," he said, laughing a bit.

"Hello, Harry. Nice to meet you!" she exclaimed, shaking his hand.

"And you –" he was interrupted by a rustling noise in the trees. Something flitted past the trunks, disappearing into the sea of green.

Harry's whole demeanor changed at once. His eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed. Scanning the area, he saw no one.

He turned back to Lucille.

"Stay here, Lucille," he said quietly.

Drawing his wand, he leapt to his feet and stepped forward, leaving a curious Lucille behind.

It would be the last he saw her alive.

The sound had come out of line of trees fencing the park in. Passing through the leaves, he saw a figure in black robes and a white mask running down the street, toward the Dursleys. The man had a curious vial hung around his neck, bobbing with each step he took.

_Death Eaters…_

Harry considered firing a stunner at this range, but he decided against it almost as much. The probability of a hit was very low, and if he missed, it would only alert the other Death Eaters to his presence and location.

He tried to see if there were any others around him. His Death Eaters _never_ traveled alone in an assault mission. Where there was one, there was bound to be more.

His suspicion were proved correct as he saw a short, slightly plump Death Eater run into the park through the other entrance. He ran forward to intercept the enemy.

The squat figure ran on, disappearing behind the forest. Turning around the bend in the road, he looked around.

He had disappeared. It was impossible to disappear on foot like that, inhuman. He hadn't apparated or port-keyed out – the wards prevented that. Where had he gone?

Looking back at the park, his heartbeat quickened.

Lucille! He had left her alone!

He sprinted back to the playground, running through the trees that bordered it, blasting away the undergrowth.

Jumping over a large tree root, he saw a blue flash of light and heard a high pitched, squeaky laugh. His heart hammered away in horror, and he clenched his wand tighter as fought to come to her aid.

That was when he heard a scream, followed by a deep humming noise. A small thump was heard, a familiar noise he had witnessed coming from a girl he had murdered…

His blood ice cold, he burst out of the foliage to a scene he would remember to the end of his days.

Lucille lay at the foot of a tree, a gaping hole her chest. She had been blasted back fifteen feet, off the now gently rocking swing. Blood was everywhere, coating the grass, and splattered all over her dress. Running to her, he looked at her face, contorted in pain. Her hair, the innocent silky white blonde halo was tainted by the crimson liquid. Her eyes, the dreamy blue orbs stared unseeingly at Harry, accusing him.

The murderer was no where to be seen.

He shut his eyes.

_Why?_

Taking a deep breath, he closed her eyelids. Brushing the hair out of her face, his heart turned to stone and his eyes turned cold, a flicker of red passing through them.

Getting up, he calmly started back the Dursleys, where the Death Eaters were headed.

There would be hell to pay.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I know. I took a long time. But I hated writing this chapter. It was too mushy, lacking any real dark themes. But don't worry; it only serves as a nice contrast for some of the more…gruesome parts of the story. I'm sure you'll enjoy them.

Please Review!

Amerision


	4. Retribution

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. There are only so many ways to say this.

**A/N:** From now on, the story will be rated 'M'.

* * *

Chapter 4: Retribution

* * *

_In every man there is good and evil, emotion and logic, honor and temptation. Many a human have succumbed towards either end, cold logic serving evil, giving way to temptation, or honorable, righteous men who wear their hearts on a sleeve. _

_Absolution such as the above however, is nearly impossible, and it is beyond foolish to seek it. _

_To embrace the first, you must give up your humanity and all that it comes with. Tom Riddle took this path and failed. His emotions stem from temptation and he retains the hate that has grown in his soul._

_Albus Dumbledore attempted the second, but his years as a last resort has forced him to put aside emotions and righteousness for the 'greater good', leaving heartless manipulation to desperately correct the errors wizardkind has assigned him to remedy. _

_All that's left is what side you're going to pick. And even that is flawed. Good and Evil? Light and Dark? Those two only work if you believe in humanity's last stand against its bitter truth. _

_Innocence. _

_Man has always hoped that there are true saviors out there, uncorrupted by the evil that lurks in the hearts of all men. Why believe that we are tainted by the darkness? It's just so much easier that there are others that are pure…innocent. _

_But they are wrong. Innocence is just a relative term, a fantasy the hypocritical hopeful indulge in. _

_Because every man's soul has a price. The only question is…how much? _

* * *

Petunia Dursley woke up to a growled '_Ennervate'_. 

Opening her eyes, she blinked a bit before focusing on the smoking tip of a brown wand. Lazy grey wisps floated through the air before being inhaled deeply by its owner, a strange freak wearing a skull-like mask, black robes, and a rather disturbing smile.

The Death Eater smiled wider at the look of fear that crossed her face.

"_Imperio!"_

* * *

Dudley Dursley awoke in a similar fashion. The large boy fluttered his eyelids before settling at a half closed state. This soon changed when he realized what exactly had awakened him. A freak. 

A rather terrifying freak at that. Behind the freak was his mother. She had dreamy expression on her face, a short kitchen knife in one hand, and what appeared to be a box of baking soda in the other. Behind her was a tall, slender glass of lemon juice.

"Mother?" he asked pitifully. The freak moved backwards, away from the coming debacle. He joined his fellow misfits in the shadows.

The skeletal form of his mother stepped forward, raising her knife a bit. A small whimper escaped Dudley Dursley's mouth.

* * *

In the back, one of the Death Eaters stuck a finger in his recently arrived comrade's chest, brushing aside the golden vial hanging around his neck. 

"You're a mudblood aren't you?" he asked, sneering.

The tall, thin man pushed the finger away slowly, adjusting the narrow glasses on his nose. Looking downwards, he tilted his head slightly, peering at the shorter figure with something akin to amusement.

"Half-blood, actually." he replied faintly.

The Death Eater stared at the man's odd demeanor before resuming his arrogant countenance, albeit more cautiously. "Close enough," he finally said before turning away. Before he left, however, he stopped, turning around to the strange figure. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer. "This better be interesting."

The half-blood grinned, placing the mask back on his face. The pureblood couldn't help the twinge of fear that ran through his body.

"Of course."

* * *

Vernon Dursley didn't have the pleasure of being awakened by the pale blue light that revived the rest of his family. He was jolted back into consciousness by a shrill scream that he recognized as belonging to his son, Dudley. 

Craning his head, he saw that he was stuck to his living room wall. About fifteen feet away in front of him was his wife, leaning over Dudley's flailing form. Strange men in dark, sweeping robes occupied the perimeter of the living room, about twelve in all. One of them had silver linings on its robes, denoting what he assumed was its superior rank.

_His _kind.

He struggled against the invisible force that held him taut. All he succeeded in doing was animating his protruding stomach, causing several of the younger recruits to laugh. His face flushed, he opened his mouth to yell.

"HOW DARE YOU! I DEMAND THAT YOU FREE ME AT ONCE! YOU CAN'T-"

He was swiftly silenced by a wave of a wand. The caster stepped forward, a bored looking expression on his face. He was the higher ranked freak. Turning to him, he spoke with a thick Russian accent.

"Hello Vernon," he drawled, as he waved his wand again. There was a rattling noise in the kitchen as all the forks in the drawers rose up and floated over in front of Vernon. The silverware gleamed darkly as they came to rest several yards away.

"I want to play a game…"

* * *

Harry Potter strode serenely back to Four, Privet Drive, his wand in hand. Passing by Mrs. Figg's house, he absently noted that the door had been broken down and a notice-me-not charm put in place. 

A dull throb pounded his head as he thought he heard a tortured scream. Unconcerned, he walked on.

* * *

Vernon was screaming in pain as a fork imbedded itself into his genitals. A trickle of blood snaked down the handle along with an unknown gelatinous liquid, presumably from his testicles. Antonin Dolohov waved his wand calmly once more, much like the conductor of an orchestra. With each wave, another fork separated itself from the swarm that had gathered in front of the Death Eater and sped at the large man. 

This one found its target in Vernon's right hand, pinning it to the wall. Vernon spasmed in pain as yet another fork sped at him. His voice was soon hoarse as the next fork cleanly went through his shin.

Dolohov continued the frightening symphony, waves increasing in length and frequency.

A small distance away, Petunia was bent over Dudley, his body as myriad of cuts. He was sobbing quietly. Petunia set aside the fork she had in hand and reached for the box of baking soda on the floor. She began to open his cuts gently, almost lovingly, placing the white powder inside them. The cruel imitation of love continued as she finishing with the large gash that ran down the length of his manhood to his testicles. She put away the baking soda and reached for the bottle of lemon juice on the table next to her.

The surrounding Death Eaters stepped forward in curiosity. It had been far too calm so far, but the new half-blood promised a spectacle. He was reputed to be exceptionally creative. The Dark Lord had recruited him specifically despite his usual disdain for the impure. No one was quite sure where he came from, but the general consensus was that he had spent much of his life with muggles.

Petunia took the cap off the bottle and started pouring the lemon juice into Dudley's gashes, rubbing them in tenderly. The near comatose boy was firmly stuck to the floor, so he did not resist as the acidic liquid flowed into the cuts, reacting with the baking powder.

Dudley was snapped back into reality by a searing pain that tore through his body. The lemon juice and the baking powder combined, sizzling angrily as it burned away the boy's nerves and expelled Carbon Dioxide under his skin. He shrieked in pain as unimaginable agony lanced from his underarms, neck, between his fingers, cheeks, chest, sides, and his crotch. His skin turned blue as the Carbon Dioxide choked off the oxygen in his capillaries, killing them slowly.

The youngest Dursley writhed on the ground, limbs still fastened with a sticking charm. The Death Eaters laughed at display, clearly amused by the inventive method. The weak minded boy soon passed out.

Shaking their heads, they went to work. It was time to start their torture.

* * *

Wormtail scampered back into the house, transforming back into his human form. Harry was coming, that he had insured. He signaled over some of the recruits over to get ready. 

Peter had watched Harry for days, planning the capture. He had chosen the afternoon to strike because the boy was not at his house. This was advantageous as they could lay a trap for him disguised in the security of his home. No one would see the struggle. To bring him back, he had killed the girl Harry had gotten close to over the past month. The girl was, of course, under the Imperius Curse to encourage their interaction. His master had worked on her himself. That would put him in rage that would serve them well. He would get careless, arrogant, and lead himself into trouble.

That's what he always did, anyways.

* * *

Harry stood at the front door. Casting a disillusionment charm on himself, he kicked the door down and stepped away, circling around the house to the back door. As soon as he moved, angry red beams of light crossed where he would have been had he stood still. 

_Red beams…stunners?_

So they were trying to capture him, not kill him. He thought back to Dumbledore's letter. He had mentioned that Voldemort was trying to turn him. That meant he was to be brought in alive, preferably unharmed.

That was one courtesy Harry was not going to reciprocate. Looking through the kitchen window, he saw most of the Death Eaters gathering in the foyer, obviously trying to discern his position. Rubbing his temples to ease the growing pain, he whispered the unlocking charm at the backdoor. A sudden calm took him as he swung the door open, stepping in.

When he entered the house, his disillusionment charm failed, and he became visible. That particular ward was made to prevent anyone under a disguise from entering. But since he was keyed into the wards, it just shattered his illusion.

He was spotted by a Death Eater guarding the rear. He cried out to his friends before he was swiftly silenced by a cutting curse to his throat. He gurgled some blood, before falling over. The new recruit was not heard over the near constant wails that originated from the living room.

Harry could not cast any darker forms of magic, as it would trigger the alarm wards and record the incident, tracing it back to his wand. The Death Eaters did not have to worry about this, however, as their magical signature was not tied into the wards.

Hiding behind the pantry door, he looked around the edge carefully to survey the situation.

Petunia was being brutally raped against the wall, the Death Eaters taking their turns. Every orifice was filled, as she was scarcely seen under the bodies of her captors. Harry heard a deep grunt and a choking noise as a Death Eater emptied his load into her mouth. His place was soon taken by another. Petunia herself was screaming silently, bloodied tears coming down her face.

Harry felt no need to step in just yet.

Looking next to her, he saw a writhing Dudley on the ground, obviously held in place by a sticking charm. His naked body was riddled with deep, frothing gashes. Red bubbles seemed to be coming out of them, and the surrounding skin was slightly blue.

A Death Eater above him sent an '_Ennervate_' at him every time he fainted.

Taking a look at the baking soda and lemon juice, he guessed what had happened. He was slightly disappointed they had chosen a muggle method. It must have been Dawson's work. He was one of the new recruits. The only reason he had allowed him to be a Death Eater was that he was exceptionally bright, and had a deep knowledge of muggles from his time working as an intelligence officer.

While he despised the filth, it did well to know your enemy.

Looking away from Dudley, he saw greeted with the sight of his Uncle being held under the Cruciatus, his skin mostly burned off, fingers and toes missing, and his body little more than a pincushion for forks. Amazingly, he was still alive. His thick jaw was letting out a sharp wail uncharacteristic for the proud man. A growing pool of blood had gathered around him.

Tearing himself away from the amusing sight, he counted out five Death Eaters there in all. One of them wore silver trimmed robes.

_Inner Circle_…

His most trusted, no…the Dark Lord's most trusted kept his Cruciatus on Vernon. He watched as he reluctantly broke it off, turning to another Death Eater to speak. As he turned, he saw a glimpse of a rough, drawn face. Dark brown hair speckled with grey served as a reminder of his tenure in Azkaban, covering the top of a jagged scar that ran down his temple.

Antonin Dolohov.

The Russian Death Eater nodded at his inferior, before turning back to Vernon and subjecting him to another round of the Cruciatus. The dark wizard slumped slightly as he enjoyed the pleasurable backwash from the unforgivable.

The Death Eater who had been talking to Dolohov joined the group in the foyer. Two more were stationed there, with another two searching outside for him. A drawn out creak from above signaled him to at least two upstairs. Recruits always traveled in pairs.

The odds were stacked against Harry, but that didn't seem to bother him.

Raising his wand, he slipped away from the living room and walked into the dining room. It connected to the foyer, so he cast a silencing charm on his trainers and pressed himself against the wall.

Harry slided slowly alongside the wall, feet silently propelling him toward the foyer.

Wincing at another flash of pain in his head, Harry looked around for any mirrors on the opposite side of the room that would give him away, but found none. Reaching the corner, Harry slowly poked his head around the corner, trying to determine the position of his enemies.

Two were against the closet door, looking nervous, fiddling with their wands. Another pair walked inside through the front door, taking positions in the middle, listening to the newly come Death Eater rant to them about looking for "…that Potter boy". His voice sounded oddly familiar…

Apparently the newly arrived wizards had searched the Dursley's land for him – the Death Eaters had somehow inverted his wards, keeping him in. Entering the property had triggered this. This could only have been done by the caster of the wards, blood relations of the protected, or the protected themselves. Glancing at the red vials around each Death Eater's neck, he concluded that they contained Lord Voldemort's blood. The wards drained the magic of the blood, but it left the wizard wearing it unburdened. Tom Riddle had certainly proved his genius.

Harry's surname being spoken caught his attention once more, and he strained his ear to listen to more of the conversation.

"…he's got to be here somewhere. Johnson and Reynolds say he's not in the shed either." The ranting Death Eater's voice lowered, and he reached for a thick, grey wand. The apparently new recruits did as well, eyes darting uneasily.

The Death Eater continued, his tone subdued.

"That means he's inside with us…Stay here. I'll check upstairs," The others started looking around them, backing closer to each other. If the Dark Lord had been beaten by this teenager as a baby, what chance did they have?

The more experienced Death Eater berated them for lacking a backbone and being afraid of "…a kid". Looking between the four men once more, he turned and walked up the stairs, wand raised. As he went, a glimmer caught Harry's eyes.

A silver hand.

Peter Pettigrew…Wormtail.

Harry bit back a snarl as his eyes flared, following the rat's slightly plump form upstairs. His hood fell back as he reached the top, revealing his balding hair. Self-consciously patting his head, the Death Eater raised his hood once more and disappeared into the hallway.

He would need to get rid of the four Death Eaters as quickly as possible. He searched through his memory for any possible curses when the chandelier caught his eye.

The crystal light fixture loomed above, massive in proportions and undoubtedly heavy.

Simple solutions always tended to be the best.

Stepping out from behind the wall, the Death Eaters had no time to react as he flicked his wand above them, casting a cutting curse.

"_Diffindo!_" Harry muttered, and watched as a pale blue crescent sped out of his wand, and cut cleanly through the chain supporting the chandelier. The expensive crystal fixture seemed to hang for a second, before crashing down on the unsuspecting wizards, crushing them within seconds.

The one that had survived the initial impact lay impaled to the hard wood floor by a few shards, watching helplessly as his life bled slowly out.

Not waiting to watch, Harry sped upstairs as a pair from the living room came to investigate, still fastening their trousers.

* * *

Dolohov heard the sharp crash from the foyer. Grinning, he sent a pair to investigate the disturbance, and motioned for the rest to stay in their place. Potter had most likely dispatched the four stationed near the front door. 

Good. That would force him upstairs, where he would be backed into a corner.

Potter was trapped, like a caged animal. He had no doubt they would catch him. Dolohov decided on giving them a couple minutes. If they failed, he would step in personally. But for now, they would have their fun.

Turning back to the twitching mass of flesh below him, he went back to work.

* * *

Harry reached the top of the stairs, ducking into the bathroom as he heard two new Death Eaters walk into the foyer. The men prodded the bodies of their comrades, pronouncing them dead. Baring their wands once more, they took a sweep of the dining room and study. As soon as they left the foyer, Harry moved on. 

Walking into the hallway, Harry spotted another Death Eater. His back was facing Harry, and he was moving his wand in an odd pattern, touching his vial every so often. Harry faintly recognized it as a part of a larger procedure to alter blood wards.

He briefly wondered what would happen if the vial was removed. Undoubtedly, the wards would attack and repel the Death Eater, but he was curious as to how. Killing him would render him non existent in the eyes of the wards, so if he wanted to test his theory, he would have to keep him alive.

Not waiting for him to finish, Harry quickly threw a silencing charm at the man before stunning him. He crumpled to the floor silently.

Checking behind him, he heard Peter and the other Death Eater conversing in the Master Bedroom some distance away. They must have heard the crash, so why hadn't they reacted?

Perhaps they had set up an inverted silencing charm to block sound _out_, so they could converse over the screaming?

Walking up to the door, he strained to listen in over the noise generated in the living room.

"…don't take off the vial until Jugson neutralizes the ward's affect on us. Once she finds the ward focus, we can force them to bind Potter and release the barrier around the property…"

Harry's eyes flickered over to the sprawled form in the hallway. Walking back to him, he bent over and picked up the vial.

Dark red blood streaked with black pooled in the glass, held in place by three golden bars.

It was confirmed. This was the only thing keeping them in.

With a slight grin, Harry ripped the vial off the man's neck.

A shudder rippled through the air and the man was suddenly propelled out of the house like a limp rag doll, crashing him through multiple walls and throwing him onto the street. The sheetrock had shattered under the impact, leaving a gaping hole in the hallway.

Harry froze. There was no way the Death Eaters could ignore that. The vibration alone would have carried throughout the building.

Footsteps echoed downstairs while Pettigrew and his companion rushed out to investigate. The two recognized him immediately and rushed ahead. Peter lingered behind as the slightly taller man stepped forward to subdue him.

"_Stupefy!_" he roared, as a beam of red light left his wand.

Not wanting to waste magic, Harry side stepped it, the stunner rebounding off the wall behind him. Running at the man, he aimed at the vial around his neck.

"_Expulsum!_"

The repelling charm crushed the vial against the Death Eater's chest, Voldemort's blood pouring down his robes. The man flew backwards violently, crashing through the door behind him and disappearing as he was expelled by the wards at incredible speeds.

His euphoria was short lived, however, as another stunner passed overhead. The Death Eaters were on the stairs now. Backing away from them, he ran back the hallway to make some room. He was trapped.

Peter was no where to be seen, he noticed absentmindedly – no doubt to stop Harry from taking advantage of the life debt. Something inside him uncoiled as he thought of the traitorous rat.

The first Death Eater brandished his wand threateningly, breaking Harry from his reverie.

"Give up, Potter. You're outnumbered!" he sneered.

Harry's expression darkened considerably, his eyes pulsing red before returning to normal. He didn't bother to aim for the vial this time.

"_REDUCTO!" _

A thick beam of light tore through the wizard, nearly vaporizing his upper chest and throwing him against the wall adjacent to the stairs. The lower part of his body slid down slowly, leaving a bloody trail.

The Death Eaters that had been behind him quickly threw a variety of jinxes and stunners to keep him in place.

Harry raised a shield and attempted to evade them.

However, his shield was too late, and a tripping jinx got him, with a binding spell to his feet. Falling to the floor, he rolled out of the way of yet another stunner, and cast a '_Finite Incantem'_ on himself.

Harry scrambled to his feet, and raised his wand in defense when he was blasted back against the window at the end of the hall. The window shook behind his body, cracking slightly. Harry fell to his knees painfully and looked up.

Dolohov was making his way through the semi-circle of wizards at the end of the hall, his long, smoking wand in hand.

The Russian Death Eater gave him a smile as he walked up to Harry. He thought he felt the air shimmer a bit, but passed it off as his imagination.

"Hello Mr. Potter. We meet again. How is your dear friend, the mudblood? I hope I didn't hurt her too badly…" he mocked with his thick accent, wand at his side. A deep boiling rage filled Harry, growing as the man stepped closer and closer, fueled by the failure in a duel with his own Inner Circle…

Harry got up slowly, jaws clenched, eyeing them carefully. He grabbed his wand as he did, and lifted it slightly.

The Death Eaters behind Dolohov made to restrain him, but Dolohov waved them off, flicking his wand downwards and sending Harry back to his knees. The motion jarred his head, intensifying the nearly blinding pain tearing through his mind. He looked up menacingly, scowling at the approaching figure, before his sight fixed on the reason they were able to enter the wards in the first place.

"No no, let him be," he said, as he continued to move forward. The four behind him trailed behind. "Mr. Potter…Harry…the Dark Lord has a proposal. You see, he recognizes your power, your talent. He was impressed with your performance at the Department of Mysteries. My Lord hates for such potential to go to waste, and wishes you to-"

Harry saw his opening and leapt to action.

"Accio Vials!" he shouted, and watched as the vials separated themselves from the wizards, ripping them from the chain that fastened them to their necks. They flew over to Harry, who ducked out of the way as they smashed against the window, the viscous liquid splattering across his back.

He looked up, smirking.

Only to see them completely nonchalant.

Dolohov began clapping.

"Very good, Harry. Resourceful, I'll give you that. I can see how the Dark Lord wishes for you to join him by his side. Unfortunately for you, however, the wards were changed to accommodate our presence several seconds ago. And in a couple minutes, they will bind you. Don't make me use that option."

Harry settled for glaring at the man. He could not possibly take him out, with his men ready to stun him at a moments notice. Better to hear what Dolohov had to say. Any information was better than nothing.

"Now, the Dark Lord has requested your presence. It's only courteous that you attend. Whether you like it or not. So, what do you say?"

Harry considered his options. He could indeed go, and join the Dark Lord. Or end up dying. There was no telling how Voldemort would react when he heard the prophecy. His Occlumency skills would not hold against torture.

He had little choice in the matter, backed into a corner. He had been trapped, tricked, _beaten_. His hate grew as he realized defeat, his vision reddening.

There had to be a way out, a way to win. Tom Riddle always found one. No one beat him. An insane smile spread his lips, unnerving the other Death Eaters.

And then, like a damn had burst, dark whispers flooded his mind, goading him, encouraging him, laying intricate webs of temptation…offers of power, revenge, blood…

…_use it…win…KILL them…carnage…_

His eyes seemed to cloud over, darkening, changing hues. A lost expression took his face…

Ruby Red…Thirteen and a Half Inches…Lord Voldemort…Kill…

…_A pitch black ball of energy…KILL…_

Harry's arm twitched, moving his wand idly to his front…

"_You'll destroy the rest of those Death Eaters…"_

…_a shock wave rumbling the surrounding area…_

"Your answer, Harry? Will you willingly come with us, or will we be forced to…"

"…_PUNISH them for all the people they've killed…"_

…_mutilating the wizards, cutting through their ranks with ease…_

"EXPLODRA!"

The entire hallway was bathed in crackling darkness as the explosion curse hit the floor, a concussion wave blasting everyone back.

Wood was reduced to splinters, plaster incinerated, and the hardwood floor vaporized with the force of the explosion. The walls blew outward as Harry and the Death Eaters dropped through the newly destroyed floor, crashing into the living room under it.

Harry's breath was knocked out of him by the sheer kickback of the curse, feeling one of his ribs break. His vision was obscured by the thick haze of darkness aided by the dust that permeated the air. He felt himself drop onto the glass table in front of the couch, shattering it.

Several shards imbedded themselves into his side while he broke through, only to be driven in further as he hit the floor. He gasped as he felt them cut deeper into his body, blood running freely. Rolling out of the wreckage, he tried breathing. Thankfully, his lungs hadn't been punctured.

A dull groan from one of the Death Eaters sprawled around him reminded Harry of the present danger, and he crawled away from the living room and into the pantry he had hidden in earlier.

His wand was still grasped in his hand, its tip emitting black sparks, the shaft burning hot. Ignoring it, he wordlessly summoned the glass shards out of his body, suppressing a shriek of pain at the sensation.

"_Ferulla!_" he hissed, and bandages sprang out of his wand and wrapped around his wet torso, soaked with Voldemort's blood as well as his own. Waving his wand once more, he cast a quick numbing charm on his chest and back.

A shuffling noise across the room alerted him to the Death Eaters getting up.

"Potter! Give up and show yourself! You have no hope of escaping the Dark Lord. You are locked in!"

Dolohov's grating voice irrated his nerves. The whispers in his mind grew again, giving him devious suggestions, showing him several brutal tactics, uttering unknown curses into his ears…

Getting up, he peered out through the crack between the door and the frame.

Two Death Eaters were walking around, looking under the wreckage for any signs of him. One of them was Dolohov, and he was limping slightly. The other three were half mutilated, faces burnt or missing, legs bent at odd angles, chest cavities crushed.

They had been too slow to raise a shield.

_Survival of the fittest…The strongest are left…_

He waited until their backs were turned, sending a c_onfundus_ charm at the closer lower ranked Death Eater. The soft purple ball of light hit the wizard in the back, melting into his tattered robes.

That would hopefully make him easier to deal with. Fighting Dolohov was bad enough, and Harry needed every advantage. He was losing blood, albeit slowly, and his numbing charm would wear off soon. Most likely the wizard would do something stupid like trip into the path of a wayward curse, or, at best, impede his superior.

Casting one on Dolohov was out of the question, however. The Inner Circle member was more powerful than his inferior counterpart, and could shake off the confusing charm instantly. It would only serve to give away his presence.

Harry's muscles tensed as he prepared to duel. Just as Dolohov was about to turn towards him, Harry burst out of the foyer, casting a powerful crushing curse at his head.

Even with his limp and wasted form from Azkaban, the Death Eater spun around with lightning speed, throwing up an indigo shield.

The burst of crimson energy hit the shield forcefully, causing it to buck slightly. It dissipated against the surface, the magic spreading outward from the point of impact with crackling arcs of blinding white light that disappeared within seconds.

As he struggled with the shield, Harry kept on moving, transfiguring a nearby piece of plaster to a sharp spear of glass and banishing it at Dolohov.

The spear tore through the air, but Dolohov was ready. After dropping his shield, he sent off a badly aimed stunner before conjuring a small block of wood to intercept the spear. Unfortunately, Harry had chosen glass for this reason.

The glass exploded into shards, cutting Dolohov's face and providing enough distraction for Harry to find the whereabouts and activities of the other Death Eater he had confunded.

The Death Eater was stumbling toward a slumped form resting against the wall.

Petunia.

Before he could think of it any further, he snapped back to action as he dodged a searing yellow light.

The Entrail Expelling Curse.

Dolohov was no longer using stunners and other friendly curses. The Russian flicked his wand at him once more.

"_Cultavio!_" he shouted, obviously enraged.

The shredding curse burst at him too fast for him to dodge.

"_Aegis Contego!_" a liquid like grey dome appeared in front of Harry, taking the brunt of the hit. The shield shuddered, but held. The power the shield drained from him to absorb the curse took a heavy toll from Harry, leaving him slightly light headed.

Waving his wand to dispel it, he dove out of the way as an unknown brown curse came toward him.

Breathless, Harry aimed his wand near the Death Eater's feet.

"_Serpensortia!_" he cried, and a long snake appeared near Dolohov's feet. "_Kill Him!" _he hissed in parseltounge, eyes pulsing their ruby color.

The Death Eater was so startled at the resemblance to his Lord and Master that he missed the snake curling around his feet, binding him.

Harry sent off a powerful _reductor_ curse, one that he could not dodge. Dolohov would be forced to conjure a shield as he could no longer move, taxing his magic.

As expected, Dolohov put up a simple _Protego _to deflect the curse. Hiding behind his shield, he quickly vanished the snake. Cancelling the shield, Dolohov waved his wand in an intricate pattern and then jabbed it toward Harry.

The forks that had taken residence in Vernon's body rose from the corpse in the corner of the room and sped toward Harry.

Harry conjured a sheet of plywood to protect himself, the forks imbedding themselves in the wood, quivering after impact.

Unfortunately, Harry had blocked his view with the plywood and was surprised when a concussion hex burst through the plywood. It broke the wood clean in half and hit him square in the chest, propelling him back into a countertop behind him.

Dolohov didn't stop, as he sent a stunner at his fallen form, hoping for victory.

Harry saw it coming, and, in his slight daze, lifted the nearby coffee maker to intercept it.

The coffee maker took the stunner, cracking down the side and shaking Harry's hands violently as it did. Harry threw it to the side and rolled off, getting to his feet, wincing at the injuries he had provoked.

Dolohov looked surprised for a moment before continuing his barrage.

"_Sectumsempra!_" he snarled, as three black blades burst of his wand. The Death Eater reverted to the multiple cutting curse in that it was nearly unblockable. It would take a fair bit of power to stop it – power the brat did not have. His magic had not developed enough for his dueling style, throwing off powerful spells without abandon.

Harry spotted the curse and ducked behind a counter, feeling it shudder under the impact. What was wrong with his magic? Why was he so weak? The counter held, and he got up once more. He would have to resort to simple methods for now.

Looking behind Dolohov, he spotted the heavy television set that Vernon had bought last year.

"_Accio!_" he muttered, as he focused on the television. Summoning things did not require stating the name of the object if you were familiar with it. Rather, all you had to do was focus on the object.

Not knowing what was being summoned, Dolohov was caught unawares as the massive television hit him in the back, coming toward Harry.

Harry deflected the oncoming television with a banishing charm toward Dolohov, hoping to get another hit.

The Russian recovering quickly, and threw his wand in front of him.

"_Immobulus!_"

The appliance halted in midair, and fell to the floor as Dolohov released it. Stepping over a fallen beam, he brought his wand up with a swish before slashing it downwards towards his opponent.

The ceiling above Harry crashed downwards, the beams ripping out of their place and racing towards the teen.

Harry dived to the right as the steel beam went through the floor where he once stood. Dolohov sent yet another stunner at him. Killing Potter would only result in a lifetime of torture.

Evading, Harry was about to retaliate when he heard a voice.

"Drop the wand, Potter, or I'll kill yer Aunt!"

Both Harry and Dolohov froze.

The confunded Death Eater had dragged Petunia over, who, amazingly, was still alive. White fluid dribbled out of mouth, and she was slightly bloody from the waist down. She was clearly delirious from the shock and pain, mumbling incoherently.

The Death Eater holding her hostage didn't look much better, swaying slightly with a manic gleam in his eye, looking pleased with himself.

"No! Let her go you imbe--"

Harry cut in, drowning the Russian's voice with his own.

"Go ahead, you don't have the balls!" he goaded. If the Death Eater killed Petunia, the wards would fail, leaving him with a way out. Because the wards were tied to Petunia, her death would drop them.

The Death Eater turned red in anger, jabbing his wand up to Petunia's neck.

"Don't have the balls, eh Potter? We'll see about tha-"

Dolohov forgot magic entirely and ran forward to tackle the man, intent on stopping him. Should the wards fail, the Order would be alerted. They had delayed the notification system, but even in their current state, they would have no chance against Dumbledore and his men.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A burst of green light filled his vision as Petunia's life left her. She fell limply to the floor, crumpled at the feet of the satisfied Death Eater. Her expression was the typical glassy eyed, shocked look that victims of the Killing Curse typically wore.

Dolohov reached him moments later, sending him crashing to the floor. Seeing the dead woman, Dolohov lost his composure entirely, a desperate fear entering his voice.

"You fool! Now the wards will fail. The Order will be here in less than five minutes!" Dolohov screamed, rolling off the man. "The Dark Lord will have our hides!"

Kicking the man in the ribs, Dolohov got up, face flushed with anger. Jabbing his wand in Harry's direction, he spoke.

"We'll meet again, Potter. I'll make sure of it!" he said viciously. Reaching into his robes before Harry could react, he pulled out a ring and disappeared in a flash of light. The Death Eater on the floor scrambled to the same, grasping a pendant and escaping safely.

True to his word, the air buzzed heavily and crackled with magic before stilling. Any other Death Eaters in the area would have felt it and taken it as a signal to portkey away.

Harry stood there for a moment, his heart beating in his ears, eyes glowing in anger. His breathing calmed somewhat, wand still clenched in his hand, staring at the spot the Death Eaters had occupied.

They had left.

It was over.

A heavy silence fell throughout the house, surreal after the events of only minutes before.

He had won.

He had _defeated _them.

Shifting his eyes away from the bare spot, he looked over at his dead Aunt.

And then Dudley.

Vernon.

The recruit in the kitchen, throat slashed viciously.

Three mutilated Death Eaters in the hall.

Four in the foyer, one of them impaled.

The blood.

A faint splash caught his ear.

The gore.

_Splash!_

His work.

It was getting louder…

_His_.

_Splash!_

Harry walked over to the source of the noise, wand now held loosely by his side.

He had done this. _Splash!_

A small pool of crimson liquid had gathered at the boots of one of the mutilated Death Eaters.

No one beat him. _Splash!_

The Death Eater was headless. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

No one would stand in his way. _Splash!_

Slowly, he looked up.

He would do _anything_ to win. _Splash!_

A blackened face grinned down at him, lips burnt off. The head was lodged in a crack in the ceiling. Its maw was dripping blood, gathering at the remainder of flesh on its chin before falling…crashing downwards to the depths.

Would he? _Splash!_

Looking away, his eyes swept the carnage once more.

Did he do this? _Splash!_

He felt something fade away within, spluttering before flickering out completely. His aches and pains rushed back to him, and his energy left him. He collapsed suddenly against the wall, lying next to Dudley's gruesome body.

And then, a terrifying realization hit him. He had killed a man. Several in fact.

_Splash!_

He had ended someone's life, snatched it away from them. He did do this. He was a _murderer_.

_SPLASH!_

But then, he realized something that scared him far more.

_SPLASH!_

It didn't bother him. He didn't feel any guilt, regret, or sorrow.

_SPLASH!_

He had rather enjoyed it.

_SPLASH!_

The Order of the Phoenix found him there, slumped against a wall staring blankly at the bodies in the living room, wand held limply in hand.

The haunting melody continued, echoing in his ears.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the month long wait. I was victimized by a writer's block. I couldn't write the duel between Harry and Dolohov, so I just left it for a while, worked on my other stories. The ending to this chapter was a spur of the moment thing, put in after reading a story by Edgar Allan Poe. (Can anyone name what it was?) 

On a side note, if I don't update this story by June 13th, 2006, then it will be put on a summer hiatus. I'm traveling overseas and won't be able to work on the story until I get home, around the first of September.

As always, I'm open to comments and suggestions.

Please Review!

Amerision.


	5. Detente

**A/N:** So much to do, so little time to do it. The first scene is meant to be in a similar style orphanage and area as the one in the movie version of _The Cider House Rules_.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter does not belong to me.

**NOTE**: The entire story has undergone some minor revisions that make important differences in the storyline. I advise you to reread the previous chapters.

--------------------------------

Chapter 5: Detente

--------------------------------

* * *

"_It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe that lures him to evil ways…" – Buddha_

* * *

_Harry walked though the front yard of the isolated, mountain side orphanage, his messy black hair tousled further by the icy breeze. _

_It was December 25th, Christmas Day. _

_Everyone liked Christmas. Everyone except Harry. _

_His footsteps made a cracking noise, the worn shoe crushing the frosty grass. The sky was a light grey overcast, the air dry. Harry's warm breath steamed out of his mouth, dissipating within seconds. _

_They had scolded him when he renounced the "…the glorious Lord…" Harry would not believe a merciful, glorious man like Christ would ever let people suffer as he did. He could not exist. _

_The younger children had taken to calling him "…the Devil Child," the older ones staring at him eerily as he walked by. Scarnon, thankfully, was never around during the holidays, leaving the extremely religious Caretaker in his place. _

_Beatings were more common around Christmas. _

_Pressing his hands against the window, he watched as the eager children ripped open their presents, cheering happily at their measly gifts. _

_Harry's lip curled upwards in disgust. Or was it hatred? It was so hard to tell them apart these days. _

_So easily satiated they were. Harry desired _more_, he wanted the long flowing cloak, the fine trousers, the polished shoes, and the golden spectacles. He wanted power, money, class…to one day return here and sneer at the lowly children that made fun of him. It was the least he deserved. _

_He turned his back on the window. He wanted more. He wasn't meant to be here, with these…these…insignificant, creatures. He had to be something better. He was different. _

_A small starling flew to the windowpane, chirping softly. It looked utterly defenseless in the biting winds, its small body shivering slightly. _

_Harry stared at the bird. _

_It was obviously lost. Nice birds like this were not meant to fly in England during the winter. _

"Stay."

_And it did. With a smile, Harry gently, carefully picked up the starling, its head protruding from his fist. It gave off a short, high-pitched squeak, as if it knew what coming. _

"_Little starling…"_

_Such beauty was not meant to exist here. And everything belonged in its place._

_Mary Williams saw him break its neck. _

_She screamed._

* * *

Harry's waking was met with a dark, oppressive room with little natural light. Grey, semitransparent curtains hid the weakly shining sun, its body sinking into the horizon.

He laid there for a moment, damp and sweaty in the artificially heated covers. The warming charm was necessary in the unusually cold house.

Where was he?

Harry looked around him, trying to place the area. It looked like a makeshift hospital room, only devoid of the bright white that usually dominated St. Mungos and the Hogwarts hospital wing.

Sitting up, he dropped his legs over the side of the bed, hunching over for a moment. Even the floor was old and dark, but elaborate nonetheless. Long winding scriptures that looked like runes were carved into the ancient wood, the wispy script disappearing in the shadows.

Pushing himself off, Harry stood up straight, balancing himself on the front of his feet, stretching. Moving toward the door, he spotted something familiar – an intricate crystal doorknob, a bronze snake curled within.

Grimmauld Place.

Harry's mind spun to action, remembering all that had occurred within the past.

The blood, the duel, the _offer_, the gore…but what pushed all thoughts aside was what resided inside him.

Lord Voldemort's mind, memories, experiences.

He could imagine the black mass oozing around him, corrupting his body, mind, and soul.

Chilled, he headed toward the shower, if only to cleanse him of his sweat.

* * *

Minutes later saw Harry furiously brushing himself under hot water.

Who knew the extent of the effect it would have on him? He could _feel _the weight on his mind. Seventy or so years of existence would easily overshadow his meager sixteen year hold on life. What if he became Lord Voldemort?

Harry laughed bitterly at the thought, imagining himself parading around in black robes and torturing muggles. He would be the enemy then, feared by commoners and opposed by the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry's face darkened. If anyone were to find out about his…condition, they would lock him up and throw the key away. No one wanted another dark wizard. Dumbledore would find out easily enough – his legilimency would pick up his surface thoughts within seconds, and with the personality change that he would undoubtedly undergo, his thoughts were bound to be different. It did not bode well to arise the suspicion of the headmaster.

Turning the granite handle, the snake above him ceased to release water, the liquid now dribbling off its fangs. Stepping out of the shower, he avoided the mirror, unwilling to look at himself.

Grasping his wand from the nearby sink, he breathed deeply as he felt the tingle of magic rush over him, giving him a respite from the coldness in his mind.

He knew it was only his wand that was keeping him Harry Potter. His link to it kept him in touch and in control, and kept Voldemort's persona from completely taking over.

Casting an elaborate drying spell, Harry put on a set of clothes he had found in the room he had awakened in and left the bathroom. Entering the hallway, Harry headed toward the first floor. Dinner was most likely in progress and he was starving for food.

Strolling into the kitchen, Harry was met with silence.

"HARRY!" Hermione and Ginny suddenly shrieked, nearly tackling him over. Harry awkwardly patted their backs, feeling incredibly uncomfortable in the double hug he was receiving. Ginny took slightly longer to disengage herself from him, but made a strange choking sound as she looked at his face.

Ron ambled toward him, and gave him a muffled "Hey mate!" - spitting food everywhere. Harry found himself unconsciously brushing himself off.

Waiting impatiently as every other member of the Weasley family either hugged, patted him on the back, or called out to him, Harry finally made it to his seat, giving a murmured "Hello" to Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt as well. They remained seated.

Sitting at the table, Harry reached for the delicious looking soup across the table. The scrapes of the ladle against the deep bowl seemed to be deafening against the silence that had followed immediately after his arrival. Looking around, he noticed everyone watching him.

Grabbing a spoon, Harry gazed at them expectantly. Everyone turned back to their food, an d the talk resumed once more.

"We were so worried, Harry!" started Molly Pre...no Weasley as they started eating. "You've been out for nearly three weeks now!"

Harry stopped, watching her in surprise.

Three weeks? The drain on his magic and mind must have been heavy. He would have to develop and strengthen his power. He was _weak_. He suspected, however, that it was the strain on his mind that had made his condition last so long.

"Professor Dumbledore has business in mainland and will arrive tomorrow night…he'll want to see how you're holding up I expect."

The stiff, clipped comment was from Tonks, who was watching him intensely. Harry forced himself not to frown or grimace, and instead nodded. The normally bubbly Auror was far from playful and carefree today. Her eyes were a dark blue, her hair as black as his own. It was most likely her natural form. The Black heritage was distinct.

Shacklebolt seemed no different; his body language was tense and guarded, eyes flickering toward him occasionally as if he was going to become violent.

Harry's stomach twisted, and he couldn't stop the shallow, involuntary sharp intake of breath. They knew what had happened. Fingering his wand in assurance under the table, Harry's mind thought of the magic on his wand, the carnage he had left behind at Privet Drive. The Weasleys seemed to treat him normally, as did Hermione. They were of course, more somber than usual, no doubt in response to Sirius's death, but they seemed to be blissfully ignorant of his role in the attack on Privet Drive.

He didn't want to think of Dumbledore's response. Interrogation was most likely on top of the list, and with the extra attention, he would be looking for any signs of Dark Magic in his memories. Harry knew instinctively that he had to avoid Dumbledore confronting him in person. The problem was escaping.

The rest of dinner was a tense, quiet affair, broken only by the nervous, half-hearted attempts of his friends to engage him in conversation. He tried his best to keep up with them, but it seemed horribly odd to do so.

He watched as everyone came to the ritualistic, silent unanimous agreement to finish and leave the table several minutes later, all small talk exhausted. Trying his best to not act abnormal (which became increasingly difficult the more he thought of it), he thanked Mrs. Weasley for her food, and left with Ron and Hermione to her old room there.

He trudged up the solid, dark wooded stairway, watching Ron and Hermione's backs. They were laughing about some humorous comment Ron had made about Moody. Hermione looked back at him, giving him a fleeting smile before reengaging in conversation. Harry slowed his walking somewhat and watched as the _duo_ chattered away, strolling farther and farther away from him.

Hermione's cheeks went slightly red at something Ron said, but Harry found himself uncaring, or unwilling to try to even speculate the matter. He eventually found himself sitting cross-legged on Ginny's bed staring across at Ron and Hermione, who had taken Hermione's bed.

He _had_ missed them, to be honest. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't summon the enthusiasm he normally displayed around Ron and Hermione. It didn't help that they had gotten closer in his absence. She quickly noticed his expression.

"Harry? How are you holding up? With…Sirius and all."

Harry shrugged. "As best as I can, I guess. I'm not over it if that's what you mean." He wondered how much of a lie that was. He hadn't thought of Sirius at all really. He almost missed the tears. At least it made him slightly more human. Less…_him_.

Hermione put on a sympathetic look. Ron, strangely, was only staring at him. A pregnant pause soon took the room, everyone looking slightly uncomfortable with the situation before Ron abruptly changed the subject.

"You look different."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?" Hermione nudged Ron in the side, whispering something along the lines of "_Rude Git_". Turning back to him, she wrung her hands in her lap, sitting silent for a few moments before elaborating.

"Well…you do look, as Ron so eloquently put, different. I can't put my finger on as to where, but you just seem slightly changed. Your nose has definitely gotten a bit smaller though. And your face _was_ much more roundish. You're taller too, but I guess that's normal. Ron somehow stretched himself too."

He resolved to go look in a mirror soon. Harry hoped he wasn't going to see the reflection of sixteen year old Tom Riddle from the diary.

"I guess I grew into my nose. I did lose some weight though, so that's probably how my face became less round."

His friends looked doubtful, but didn't mind when he steered the conversation away from him. Harry asked about their progress in summer work.

Hermione, as usual, lit up at the question, and started talking rapidly about how she had finished all her assignments. She soon turned to scolding Ron and questioning Harry about his progress. But the topic soon strayed to the post of Defense.

"I wonder what Professor we have this year for Defense. Umbridge won't come back, obviously. Snape might finally get it. And we need our new books too," she commented.

"Mum said we're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get our materials for Hogwarts," Ron piped in.

Harry frowned. "Isn't it early for that?"

"Not really. It's August the third, you know. You were out for most of July though. We go back to Hogwarts in less than a month." It was seemed so strange that everyone expected him to go back to Hogwarts after all that had happened, but he realized he was still their normal, if slightly off, Harry Potter to his friends. For the first time, he dreaded going back.

Harry remembered something suddenly. "What about Sirius's will?"

Hermione looked slightly uneasy when she answered. "It was carried out in the Ministry of Magic when you were out. I think you got the house, with some money. The Blacks hadn't all that much – the Ministry managed to get most of it after the first war, I think." After some thinking, she added with a slight twitch of her lips, "You did get Kreecher too, but Moody killed him right after. I don't think you mind."

"I thought you were for elves' rights," Harry asked lightly. "What happened to S.P.E.W.?"

She shrugged.

"I am, but Kreecher was far too gone to be worth saving. After what happened this year, I realized some things are just too corrupted to save, I guess. It's best to take care of them before they get any worse and do any serious damage."

It didn't help Harry when Ron echoed her comment.

All he could do was nod half-heartedly and pretend to agree.

* * *

Harry soon left, saying he felt tired.

He didn't think he could take another idiotic grin from the two directed toward each other. Closing the door quietly, he made his way up to the third floor, not feeling toward sharing a room with Ron. The gangly boy probably moaned her name in his sleep.

Walking slowly up the stairs, he turned the corner and made his way toward the main hallway.

Kingsley was there, watching. Returning his quiet stare with one of his own, he passed him by and chose the room farthest away from the silent Auror. It was clear he would be guarded throughout the night.

Shutting the door behind him, he looked around the small bedroom. He dimly remembered cleaning it the year before with Ron. It was sparsely decorated, a mostly bare room with a four poster bed that seemed to have been added almost last-minute. Sitting down on the firm mattress, he slouched somewhat and put his elbows on his thighs, tapping his wand on his chin.

His escape was a priority now. Should Dumbledore arrive before he left, his window of opportunity would be sealed. He wouldn't last a second against the powerful wizard. But how could he escape Grimmauld Place? He was no match for four Order members either, untrained as he was.

…_oh, but you are…_

Ignoring the enticing thought, Harry contemplated his options. He could try to duel his way past Kingsley, Tonks, Arthur, and Molly but it was unlikely. Even with the element of surprise, he would at best defeat loudmouthed Molly and her henpecked, pathetic husband before being crushed by the two professional Aurors. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyeglasses feeling odd for the first time in his life.

Rolling the Holly wand between his fingers, he thought of the curses he would be able to use. His repertoire of battle magic was pitifully small compared to the ones the Aurors knew.

_Stupefy, Protego, Reducto…_

…_Explodra, Seco Morsellius, Aegis Contego…_

Harry's eyes widened. He could access Voldemort's knowledge…but how? They seemed to be the ones that he had used before. Straining, he tried to think of any other curses.

His mind came out blank, empty except for the ones had used while Voldemort's persona had affected him. _Infected_…he corrected himself.

Bringing his wand up, he tried to use the least damaging of the curses.

"_Aegis Contego!_" he whispered, and tried to mirror the motions he had made with his wand before. His wandtip glowed for a moment, but released only a small amount of sparks, fizzling slightly.

He frowned. As hard as he tried, he couldn't replicate the shield from only memory. He wondered if he needed Voldemort's _presence _in his mind to utilize his magic. He had no idea as to accomplish that, however, and he wasn't about to try.

No…he wouldn't resort to that. It would only drive them closer. He couldn't fight his way out of Grimmauld Place anyways. Dueling past his friends and the family that had taken him in was out of the question. He felt revolted even thinking about it, at the deep anticipation inside him somewhere eagerly planning the injury of two Aurors. There had to be an easier way, one where his condition would not be exposed. Harry was positive that the floo had been cut off or at least given a password.

He had to escape while outside of the house…and the only time he was out was the next day, during their shopping for new supplies in Diagon Alley.

Harry planned.

* * *

They arrived by floo to the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry found it strange that only Molly would be guarding them. But he quickly reasoned that other Order members would be stationed around to scout for trouble. A moment of searching revealed Emmeline Vance casually loitering around the entrance to Diagon Alley, chattering away with some other witch.

"Come along, Harry – we'd best get started immediately," Molly called from ahead. Harry caught up to Ron, Ginny, and Hermione's backs as Molly passed Vance and made her way to the tall brick wall that served as the gate to the magical world.

Molly tapped her long, worn wand on the seven sequential bricks. The wall, however, did not open. Frowning, she tried again.

Vance sidled by and told them of the new security measures. All wizards and witches with wands who were in the small courtyard had to perform the sequence before being allowed entrance. This not only recorded the identity of every registered wizard (and made sure under age students were accompanied by a trained wizard), but also prevented the entrance of dangerous magical creatures and scanned for the presence of any known hazardous magical items in the possession of each person. With Aurors on every entrance and a new anti-apparition and broomstick field up, the only way to enter the Alley was through either the numerous gates, like the wall, or through a licensed portkey made specifically to pass through the new wards.

Harry's throat went slightly dry. His chances of escape looked to be rapidly diminishing. He reluctantly entered the sequence, the rest of his friends following one by one.

The bricks reoriented themselves rapidly, creating a tall archway to allow them entrance. True to Vance's words, a red robed Auror moved to scan them from the other side with a few lazy waves of his wand and some murmured words. Apparently satisfied, he motioned them through. Harry noticed the Auror seemingly shimmer and disappear into the wall, his eyes unable to focus on the man's position. An immensely powerful notice-me-not charm, undoubtedly.

Soon they were within the throngs of hundreds upon hundreds of people. The news of Voldemort's return hadn't seemed to prevent anyone from shopping. The day was cool, the sky a dull grey. It was a welcome respite from the searing heat of the summer, most likely contributing toward the busy day.

Struggling to pass through the many wizards and witches, Molly dragged them towards Flourish and Blotts. Harry turned confused to Ron.

"Weren't we going to Gringotts to get money?"

Ron looked at him strangely before shaking his head. "She's been getting money for you since second year, remember?" Giving a quick 'Oh' of understanding, Harry joined Ron and Hermione in picking out his books.

He walked to the book stands, entering a random section. Pretending to be staring at a small tome, Harry thought of the situation he had been placed in. With all the gates guarded with overzealous Aurors, an unknown number of Order members, and all exits requiring a registered wizard or witch (he was still underage), his planned escape seemed all the more impossible. He neither had the money nor the ability to procure a portkey keyed into Diagon Alley's wards. The issue of money was by far the most important, however. With no legitimate reason to access his accounts, he would be forced to withdraw after his escape, assuming he would be able to find a Gringotts branch.

He looked over the shelf, seeing Ron and Hermione with an armload of books heading toward him.

"Did you get your books?" Hermione asked. "You were still unconscious when we got our letters. Not to worry though," she smiled, "I've got them all here." She dumped her stack of books into his hands. Rubbing the back of her arms, she took her own copies from Ron with a quick thanks. Harry couldn't help but feel Ron was slightly pathetic when his ears turned red.

The three of them lumbered over to the cashier's desk, who was toting a strange, oddly proportioned magical abacus. The bored looking woman took their books and made a few adjustments to the old device. Moments later, the beads rearranged themselves, forming some combination that only she understood. Nodding somewhat to herself, she took several sickles from Molly and put the books in four large bags.

"What happened to the space expansion charms?" Molly Weasley asked, looking slightly exasperated. The cashier's bored face quickly dropped, becoming much more serious. She stood silent for a moment before leaning toward them, "Ever since…_the announcement_…" her voice dipped at the word, becoming a mere whisper, "…the Aurors have forbidden us from giving out the enlarged bags with the lightening charms. They think _his _people can bring in large amounts of dangerous items with them."

With a sharp nod of understanding, Molly thanked her and led them away.

"Why can't you just use the charm, Mum? Or the Death Eaters?" Ginny asked. Harry had forgotten she had even been there. She had avoided him ever since dinner the night before.

Mrs. Weasley's shoulders slumped slightly. "I don't actually know the expansion charm myself, dear. It's difficult to cast, and it's not taught at Hogwarts unless you take NEWT level Charms. I was never really good with advanced charms, anyways. Besides, we don't want to compromise security."

Harry noticed she had avoided the second part of the question entirely.

Pushing through the masses of people, Harry followed them toward Eeylops Owl Emporium. Buying some treats for Hedwig (She had flown to the Hogwarts Owlery, according to a letter from Hagrid), he patiently waited for the others. Hermione had gone next door to Magical Menagerie for Crookshanks. Leaning against the doorway of the dilapidated building, he noticed a fairly new shop several stores down on the other side of the Alley. A whitewashed sign hung from the overhanging roof, proclaiming in conservative dark blue writing:

"_Pivindale's Proper Portkeys"_

The miniature shop was sandwiched between two larger stores, its owner, a middle aged balding man, standing behind a small counter looking out at the crowd. He watched as a young man paid the shopkeeper a single galleon, receiving a small circular object in return. The man stood patiently to the side, watching a permanent _Tempus_ charm to his right. The misty smoke showed the time: 4:57 PM.

This was most likely one of the registered portkeys Vance had mentioned. Portkeys were often made to activate every quarter of an hour, so it stood to reason that the man was waiting for the full hour to pass.

Harry didn't have any galleons, and was loathe to steal any. Looking behind him, he walked out the store, making sure Molly was looking elsewhere. Bumping shoulders with a pair of old wizards, he pressed through the crowds, keeping his head down. His wand was up his sleeve, ready to spring out in a moment's notice.

Trying his best to act innocuous, he made it safely to the other side of the Alley. Looking upwards at a sign proclaiming prices, he realized that even the shortest distance away – the other side of London – was more than thirteen sickles.

"Planning to leave us?"

Harry turned around just as a warm hand grasped his wrist tightly, the cold eyes of Nymphadora Tonks looking at him suspiciously. It was clear she wasn't very trusting of him.

"Not at all. Just checking," he replied quietly. The Auror looked past him for a moment before pulling him roughly back toward Eeylops. Harry followed her gaze to the side, where another Auror (and most likely Order member) stood, observing the scene with an expressionless face.

Tonks wore the standard blood red robes of the Aurors, an easy giveaway to their identity. Still, even with the many visible Aurors, it would be difficult to accurately hunt a single person down in the massive crowds. Stopping them forcefully, he looked back at the Portkey shop, seeing the clock at 4:59 PM. The darkly dressed man had walked forward to a small clearing in the front of the shop, holding the circular object out. Turning back to Tonks, they met eyes for a moment before he tore his hand out of hers, running back toward the clearing.

Pushing people out of his way, he knocked down several wizards and witches before a flash of red light tore through the air above him. Ducking instinctively, he looked toward the source – the watching Auror that had observed them. He was heading towards him in long strides, his wand out and glowing with ferocious intensity.

His heart beating wildly in his chest, he plowed his way through the suddenly hysterical crowd, all of them pushing to get out of the way. He heard a shouted "_Stupefy_!"through the screaming. A whispered voice, a sudden urge made him roll to his left. The burst of energy hit the ground harmlessly. Leaping to his feet once more, he felt the surge of power and sudden rush that came with adrenaline.

And the cold, incinerating persona of the Dark Lord.

The world seemed to slow as he seemed to fly towards the shop, taking out his wand. His better judgment suppressed his instinct to fight – if they knew he could cast magic without being detected, the hunt for him would be much more pressing.

"_Strikillus!"_

An almost deafening roar came from behind him. As if by reflex, he spun around to meet it, grabbing the closest person to him and using her as a shield. The girl struggled and screamed, only to be knocked out by the potent concussion curse – much too powerful for simple subduing. There was considerable kickback, but he held strong. Dropping the young witch, he continued running, disappearing into the crowd.

He was in the middle now – they wouldn't dare fire with the risk of injuring an innocent – _wasn't he innocent?_

People were moving wildly to the exits, shouting and yelling for help. Momentarily losing his way, he saw through an opening in the crowd. The soon to be traveler saw Harry looking at him before casting a glance at the _Tempus_ charm. The smoke was blinking red, increasing in frequency.

In a burst of speed, he ran towards the man, who seemed to be drawing his wand, a curse on his lips. Another Auror materialized from seemingly nowhere, grabbing his waist from behind. Struggling in his grasp, he elbowed the older man in the face and kicked off from him. Feeling another stunner barely miss him, he tackled the escaping man down just as he was enveloped in a burst of flashing light.

* * *

"Albus!"

Heavy, blue eyes tore themselves from a report to face the high ranked Order member. A clean-shaven middle age man, his arms were thick, hair a dark blonde. A thin scar ran down his cheek, a reminder of his years in the service of the Hit-Wizard Core.

"What's happened, Osiric?" Dumbledore stood, pushing the reports back into the magically sealed field envelope.

Rogers looked up at him, his eyes hard.

"Potter's escaped his escort in Diagon Alley by portkey. The issuer of the portkey refuses to disclose the destination."

Dumbledore looked up for a moment, standing perfectly still. "I want you to contact our goblin inside Gringotts and freeze Harry Potter's accounts and seal his properties. Have him flag the name and alert us if he tries to access his vault. He can't hide on the streets."

Rogers gave a small nod. "Will do, sir." Turning around sharply, he made his way to the door before his leader's tired voice made him pause.

"Go see the shop owner and use whatever means necessary to extract the information," he said quietly. "If he's not found within 72 hours, I want you to call your men in HT-6. We can't afford to lose him."

With a small smile Dumbledore didn't like, the man exited the room. Moving toward the fireplace, the headmaster threw some flu powder into the fire.

"Shacklebolt!" he commanded.

Several seconds later, the bald Auror's head appeared in the fire.

"Tell the rest of division five that you're going to find Harry Potter under my orders. Once they're placated, find Tonks and bring her here. Time is of the essence."

* * *

Harry spun in a whirlwind of colors between the fabric of space itself, all sound muted as the round pendent rushed them toward their destination. As sudden as it began, Harry found himself slamming into the ground next to the man he had tackled, his wand rolling away from him into the darkness of the narrow alley that had arrived in.

He leapt to his feet, only to find himself at the receiving end of a thick, oak wooded wand. The dark robed wizard was approximately his height, his hair brownish, eyes the same color. His lips had turned into a cold sneer, his eyes haughtily staring him down.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "I want to know the name of the fool I'm going to slaughter tonight…"

Harry's blood rang in his ears, the world coming into a twisted clarity…

…_strike him down…kill…_

He swung his head slightly to the right before sharply stepping to his left. The man followed his closely. The wand was poking him in the chest now, its owner livid.

"ANSWER ME!"

Taking advantage of his momentary rage, Harry stepped forward and swung his right bent arm at the man, grabbing his wand with the same hand while simultaneously hitting him in the face. Using his left foot, he kicked the man down to the ground while stepping back to his previous position.

Leveling his wand, he warred with his urge to _hurt…_and fired a stunner instead. Pocketing the wand, he breathed heavily, supporting himself with the cracked wall. He closed his eyes as he felt the rage…the power, sink down into his depths.

Moving back to the man, he rummaged through his robes for anything of use. Finding a bag of a couple sickles, he added it to his own robes. A gear shaped piece of stone hung from the man's neck, partially hidden under the light cloak. A dim recognition made Harry take that too, it was some sort of protection, marking of a certain group.

Certain that the man was of no other use, he dragged the unconscious body to the side, dropping it into a nearby pile of rubbish and covering it.

Summoning his own wand and slipping it back into his hand, he immediately feeling the calming, soothing effects of it wash over him. Breaking the oak wand in half and taking one last look at the darkened alley, he stepped out into the dim light of the drizzling sky.

He absent-mindedly waved his wand over himself, a thoughtless gesture that made the light drops of water avoid him entirely. Looking around, he saw an opening down the sloping space between the two buildings.

Making his way down the empty, narrow passageway, he arrived at what seemed to be a harbor in a small bay by the sea. The smell of the ocean was strong, the ground littered with papers, cans, and other materials that clearly indicated that the area hadn't seen life in years.

The port was obviously muggle, if the rusted crane in the fenced in dock was any indication. Old wooden containers stood stacked in the corner, one of them marked with the seal of Grunnings. A broken down forklift sat in pieces to his right, while an empty shipping container larger than his room at Number 4 loomed behind him.

The salty water looked a sickly green in the dull weather, the waves lazily crashing against the raised concrete walkway overlooking the ocean.

Despite the depressing, deadened scenery around him, Harry stood transfixed for a moment, looking at the endless water. _He_ had seen the ocean before, but Harry hadn't. Feeling the resonant push inside him to just move on, he turned around and looked for any clues to his location.

Looking at the multitude of warehouses surrounding him, he spotted one with faded red lettering adorning the side.

'_NEWCASTLE REMNINGTON'_

He walked toward the decrepit building, something drawing him closer. The air suddenly seemed heavier, a faint tingle rushing through his body. It was a feeling he associated with Hogwarts.

There was something oddly out of place with the warehouse, and he couldn't stop the cautious hand that reach toward the tarnished, large front door.

His hand went through with no resistance, passing through the solid as if it were air - much like it did with Platform 9 ¾. This was a place occupied by wizards. Steeling himself, he plunged inside.

He found himself back outside, facing the water. But everything had changed. Wizards and witches walked everywhere, most of them hurrying back and forth to escape the foul conditions. Some, obviously the more educated, stood amused, having cast an impervious charm on themselves.

Many of the metal warehouses now housed small rows of brick laid stores like in Diagon Alley, the remaining buildings having long, crooked docks that stretched far into the water.

Large sailing ships sat anchored in the bay, their goods being offloaded to the docks and carried into the warehouses on long, glowing wooden platforms that floated inches from the ground. Shoddy looking yachts weaved in between the heavy freighters, the bustling docks a far cry from its abandoned muggle counterparts.

No trace of the modern, littered world remained. Cobblestone streets much like the ones of Diagon Alley replaced concrete, the perfect, clear cut walls now leaning precariously over the passerbys. Shady looking people all clamored to get to their destinations, hags offering themselves to the occasional desperate looking man.

It reminded him of Knockturn Alley – he doubted the area was very legal in standing. Aurors were nowhere to be seen and the products being sold were hardly what one would expect in a normal Potions apothecary.

Stepping toward the docks, he watched as a heavyset wizard standing on the deck of a ship chanted slowly under his breath, his wand glowing slightly. His voice increased in pitch, and for a moment, nothing visible happened. But the air around him picked up slightly, and soon a sharp gale was rushing toward the sails of the ship. The man gave one last cry as the sails strained under the wind, the frigate pushing forward toward the darkening horizon.

Harry turned around, looking back at the multitude of crooked shops, their owners calling out to passerbys. Nearby, a tall witch stood haggling with a small old man over the price of pickled human spleens. Next to her, a spectacled aristocrat attempted to wrench his arm away from a hideous looking woman, a look of horror etched on his face.

Chuckling slightly, Harry walked into the crowds. He needed to acquire money if he was going to survive here. _To do what_?

Stopping abrupty, he realized that aside from escaping, he had no plans. What was he to do?

The logical side of his reasoned that he would have to first establish himself and find a suitable way to hide his presence from Dumbledore's men. From there, he would…_would what?_

…_hide? …kill the Death Eaters? Grow in power and…**murder** Voldemort? …live?_

Suddenly the idea of killing Voldemort seemed so foreign that he wondered how it had ever entered his mind. But something akin to excitement wound itself around his stomach, the very idea of _revenge _making his hand grip his wand tighter, enthusiasm coiling under his very skin.

It seemed only _natural_ to hurt them. Natural to kill the Death Eaters…Bellatrix…Voldemort.

But he was woefully unprepared, he was an untrained wizard…_with talent, with…him_. He _was_ capable of killing them.

"What're ya grinnin' at moron?"

The voice shook him out of reverie. He looked around to see a man not unlike Mundungus Fletcher poke him with his wand. Heavy lidded eyes stared at him, forming the grimy visage of the grunt.

"Yeh're late, courier, and the boss doesn't tolerate bein' late. I have my orders to escort yah to the Underground. I hope yer worth it, cause you're dead otherwise."

* * *

**A/N:** My first update since June. I hope it's up to standards.

Please Review!

Amerision


	6. A Modest Proposal

**A/N:** It's late. No excuses here. Major, supernatural levels of thanks to BlueMagickMarker for helping me finalize and straighten out the plot. This story simply would not exist without him.

**Additional Note:** The official pronunciation of the term _Seid _is unknown to me, however my interpretation is _Sayd_. Some sources have pointed toward _Say-yed_ as well, however I am unable to draw anything definite from research. Choose what you will. The definition of the term will be revealed in time – there's no need to look it up yet.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter does not belong to me.

* * *

Chapter 6: A Modest Proposal

* * *

"_There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable."_ - Mark Twain

* * *

Harry found himself being maneuvered through the alley at wandpoint. He supposed there was very little to do with his own wand confiscated. The instincts he had relied on initially were infuriatingly silent, and he had no clue if he was capable of any sort of wandless magic. 

The wizards and witches surrounding them didn't so much as bat an eyelash at his treatment, presumably familiar with this kind spectacle. Law enforcement was out of the question as well, leaving Harry to wonder who kept order in the shady area.

A dim panic began to take Harry, an almost detached anxiety that made him pay attention to his current situation. He was far away from the safety of Privet Drive and the wards, isolated from Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, and all alone in a disreputable area of the Wizarding world with a threatening wand stuck in his back.

It occurred to him how _new_ this situation seemed to him. He knew nothing of his impeding fate, no clue as to his captor, and no idea of the reason for his capture. Before, he could have at least expected Voldemort or his Death Eaters. Murder and torture would probably have been the resulting consequences.

Forcing himself to calm down, he tried to look at it analytically. The man had called him a _courier_, meaning he had been mistaken for some sort of messenger. The squat wizard escorting him was of low rank, if his appearance was of any indication, and part of some sort of organization or clan. The reverence he seemed to hold for 'the boss' didn't seem to bode well for Harry either.

The man's expression seemed more annoyed than murderous, however, and he had been told that his life would be preserved if he had been 'worth it'. Regrettably, there was no way of knowing what he was supposed to know. Resigning himself to silence and observation, he trudged on.

He was pushed into a small dingy shop near the ocean, its wet wooden structure almost part of the docks themselves. The air in the shack smelled of the sea, the shelves lined with various trinkets and assorted pieces of junk that looked as if they hadn't been moved in years. It was fairly obvious that it was some sort of front for whatever organization 'the boss' headed.

The shop was manned by a pimply faced young man in a dull tweed coat. He nodded at them after a brief inspection and jerked his head toward the back wall. The wand at his back jabbed him harshly, making him move forward towards the wall as well.

The stained and faded brick wall, like the one he had encountered previously, gave way to his body. It felt thicker however, like liquid glass. It was ice cold, and left a stinging sensation across his skin for a few moments.

He couldn't see anything immediately upon passing through. Blinking a bit to get used to the dark, Harry found himself on a metal catwalk. His steps elicited loud groans from the rough black grating under him.

A massive cavern filled his vision, the catwalk circling most of the structure. Stairs lead to the ground floor to his right, the walkway continuing the circumnavigation to his left.

The cave was decorated conservatively, with dim, dark hued orbs bobbing leisurely above head level providing a sort of sensual illumination. A couple of curious looking booths with semitransparent glass were stashed away in the corner. An elaborate looking bar was set up lining most of the roughly elliptical space, floating disks serving as seats in front of them. The selection of liquor seemed to outstrip Madam Rosmerta's private stores by far.

The ground was a faded smooth concrete, looking much like it had been abandoned by muggles. The catwalk Harry stood on was probably muggle as well, the design far too mechanical to be magical in nature.

The cave's farthest point was covered in shadows, but Harry could make out a thin railing and dark blue waters. The large stream, it seemed, circled most of the concrete and disappeared into a barred off storm drain system. The wall not separated by the water from the concrete had a multitude of doorways to presumably other rooms.

A small secluded office built into the walls sat imperiously over the rest of the cave, connected only via the catwalk. The glass was darkened artificially through simple darkening charms, but light escaping from a crevice in the doorway gave its state of inhabitance away.

It was to this office that Harry's minder pushed him suddenly toward. "Enough looking," he mumbled. "Yeh've got all night to do yer work if ya make the boss happy."

Stumbling a bit, he shot the man a dark look and resumed walking. Unnerved by the seemingly unstable and swaying nature of the creaking walkway, Harry was shoved through the doorway. Without a second look, the wizard shut the door and left.

"You're late."

The voice startled him somewhat, but he managed not to show. Behind him was a richly adorned office with three men. The source of the voice was a thin, wiry man with a slight nervous tick in his cheek. His robes were grey and featureless. To his right was a short, stocky wizard with close cropped hair and a bullish, bored expression. Behind them was an almost comical looking man with cheery features and average build sitting at a desk. His robes were of fine quality, a lustrous navy. He appeared wandless and unarmed, but Harry knew instinctively that this was the Boss.

Neither of the three seemed murderous psychopaths, with the possible exception of the first wizard, but Harry knew that magic could twist even the most innocuous of people into monsters. If they found out who he was…but then, something told him that there was something else at work that hid his scar. He also supposed the slight shift in his features also obscured any further resemblance to the dated pictures of him in the _Daily Prophet_ from fourth year.

Contemplating on how to answer in the face of his new revelations, he supposed it would be best to simply deny any involvement at all with courier duty. It seemed like his best chance of escape at the moment.

"I'm not exactly sure what you're talking about…" he intoned as meekly as possible. Something told him that the men in front of him were powerful. With no wand, he tried his very best to look harmless and confused.

The center man looked slightly put out for a moment. The slightly trembling figure next to him spat out quickly, "If you're not the courier, then why did our man sense a Gear on you?"

His eyes flashed to his pocket seconds before he realized that he had just confirmed his possession of the object.

"Gear?" he asked, knowing it was too late.

The man flicked his wand with a sharp gesture, eliciting a particularly violent contraction in his cheek. A soft glow shined from Harry's robe pockets, giving away his lie. With another wand movement, the palm sized gear floated out of his pocket, spinning slowly.

"Stop! You know it cannot be taken unwillingly." the large man said quietly with a small tone of caution. Harry noticed that the ever silent Boss didn't look at all angry at Harry's exposed lie. "Now, return the artifact to our esteemed guest here." With a grunt, the man cancelled the spell, dropping the finely wrought stone item back into the pocket.

The Boss's eyes shined with something akin to curiosity. Leaning back and placing his arms behind his head, he looked at Harry carefully, as if seeking to discover his secrets. Glancing briefly at his silent leader, the apparent spokesmen for the strange group began with a faux calm, appearing as if he would rather tear Harry to pieces that negotiate. "Now that we've _established_ your identity, would you perhaps _care_ to tell us the Dark Lord has planned with those booths? What is his _offer_?"

_Booths?…Offer?_

Harry's mind reeled with the implications. The man believed he was a Death Eater! The wizard he had stunned in the alley had been a Death Eater coming to negotiate with this group. Suddenly he realized why his instincts had told him to kill the man…

Harry's continued, indecisive silence wrought a strange change in the men in front of him. The Boss's eyes seemed to dim while the large man moved forward, leering at him. "Is this your idea of a game?" he growled quietly, whipping out his wand in a flourish while grinning. Walking slowly toward him, he reiterated politely with a dangerous tone. "You have the Gear, so obviously the Dark Lord is interested! _What_ are his conditions?"

An urgent knocking interrupted them, causing the Boss to jerk his head as if waking up. He nodded at the stocky man nearing Harry and gesturing toward the door. The man complied and pushed past Harry roughly to answer the door.

"Well?" the thin wizard snapped suddenly, interrupting Harry's moment of relief, "We've asked you twice!"

Harry tried to think of something that would delay the inevitable. A full minute passed before the short tempered man spoke again. His voice took an insulting tone, but one that lacked any sort of anger or disappointment. "Is this Voldemort's way to insult us? Send one of his '_finest' _Death Eaters to us and tease us with a Seid Gear?"

A sudden hate rushed through Harry's veins, causing him to narrow his eyes and spit out a response to the casual disregard used in the description of his…_Voldemort's_ name. His mouth opened unbidden to chastise the man. "I…_He_ will be referred to as the _Dark Lord_ and _nothing_ else. It would do you well to remember that!"

Harry nearly shuddered at what he had said, and forced himself not to look surprised. He reasoned that he would have had to do it anyway – all Death Eaters were conditioned to respect their master's name. Not doing so would have cast suspicion on him. Still, it was discomforting…and he had almost said _'I_'…

"Well, you talk after all," the man with the tick laughed loudly, echoed lightly by his superior, "But don't give me that tired old adage. We both know Voldemort only has a mere shadow of his old Death Eater force back. His inner circle is the only powerful group left, and they are few in number. Even his own strength seems to have waned. He is not the same Voldemort from the last war. His cause is weak, and his resources low. Look how he must come to us for assistance!"

Harry tried his best to find relief and even happiness at the declaration of weakness in his enemy's forces, but he could only feel a deep rage burning through him at the continued disrespect. The two men noticed his conflicted expression and laughed more. The crazed looking man settled down and faced him with a serious, grim looking smile.

"Now, give us the Gear before we kill you, as it is obvious there is no negotiation to be done." The frail looking wizard said. The mysterious Boss watched with a strange smile, watching as his subordinate started walking up to him like his other lackey. "It's obvious you're not a powerful wizard if Igor caught you. I've tired of reasoning with an imbecile."

Harry's hands went for the gear shaped stone in his pocket. He supposed the only thing he could do was to give it up. He knew they couldn't kill him – the prophecy wouldn't allow it – but there were far worse things than death.

If only he knew what the Gear did…his fingers traced the design, and like an old memory resurfacing, a vague sort of importance assigned itself to the artifact. He knew it held some sort of meaning, but the information itself eluded his grasp.

"I believe Rusty has something to show us!" The first man suddenly exclaimed, his neck twitching to the side. The three of them looked toward the door, where the bullish man from before was escorting the man from the alley. His black clothes were dirty, his face twisted in anger.

"That's him," he snarled, pointing to him with the remains of his brown wand. His sleeve fell back on his outstretched arm, where the Dark Mark could clearly be seen. "He attacked me and broke my wand. I don't know how he stole the Gear, but he must have replicated the authorization magic on the Dark Mark!"

The rest of the room looked at Harry with little surprise. "Restrain him!" the crazed looking wizard said finally, grinning wickedly. Waiting for the Death Eater to summon the Gear from his person, he lifted his wand for the first time. "Well, seems like you're not under –" he looked at the genuine Death Eater briefly, "- the _Dark Lord's_ protection after all. And while I'd like nothing better to kill you now, the crowds are eager to see someone hurt tonight. And entertainment is my Boss's business."

Harry tried a desperate leap for the door, but he was cut down by a flash of red light. The last thing he saw before the world went black was the Boss's simple smile of delight.

* * *

"Where is he, Albus?" Molly asked pitifully, wringing her hands. "What possessed him to run away like that?"

Albus Dumbledore looked around the small table, exuding a sense of authority. The people around him soaked up the leadership and assurance that emanated off him.

"I cannot be sure as to why Mr. Potter left our company, nor his location at the moment, but you may all rest assured that Kingsley and young Nymphadora are hard at work tracking him to bring him back to safety," he said calmly with an artificial twinkle in his eyes. "I'm sure he's perfectly safe."

Remus looked up with a determined expression. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Dumbledore shook his head sagely. Looking over his glasses, he gazed around the room. "Until he is found, I will postpone further meetings." Putting his hands up against the voices of protest, he continued, "Of course, if you do find sight of him, do bring him back. Otherwise, Voldemort's forces have been relatively quiet, making our gathering unnecessary until some new information reaches our ears. With Severus reporting that Harry is not with the Death Eaters, our gatherings will be fruitless. As always, I am open to any news you may have found."

The meeting went on a few more minutes before dissolving, the members clearly frustrated.

"Mundungus?"

A short, haggard looking man paused in mid-stride, and turned back to the aging Headmaster.

"Yeah, Albus?"

Dumbledore flicked his wand around him, a gesture he quickly recognized as an anti-eavesdropping charm. "I want you to be on the lookout for Harry Potter in the Newcastle area."

Dung frowned, his young, but doleful, dirty face suddenly lined with confusion. "Wouldn't it be better if the 'ole Order heard that? One guy like me, well…yeh know it'd be easier if all of us were there…"

Dumbledore merely smiled, drawing his fingers through his long beard. He leaned back, gesturing Fletcher to a seat next to him. "How would you like to be more important? While most of your peers are, regrettably, incapable of contributing directly, you have the power to help our cause."

Dung swallowed a bit. His instincts told him something was off, and it was this instinct that had kept him alive in the shadier parts of the world for so long. "More important? I 'aven't done all that much for the Order. Always sleepin', slacking off…" Dung stopped, regarding Dumbledore with wary eyes. "And if they aren't fighting You-Know-Who, then who is?"

"And suspicious as well as cautious I see," Dumbledore chuckled in a grandfatherly way, beaming at Fletcher with a proud expression. "You were in Slytherin for a reason."

Dung couldn't help flushing from the praise, but didn't say anything.

* * *

Harry awoke with the characteristic burst of energy that signified the reviving spell.

He sat up straight and looked around in a frenzy. His last memories didn't give much hope for his continued survival. He couldn't see much, but he felt a wet, sandy floor beneath him. The air was damp, and he knew instinctively that he was underground.

Shaking his head to clear the dredges of unconsciousness, he planted his hands behind him and attempted to stand. Just as Harry had risen, however, he was pushed back onto the floor by a foot behind him.

"Allright, imposter - it's your time to shine!" An oily, confident voice declared. The nervous looking man with the tick. "I don't like you. In fact, I dislike you so much I'm throwing you into the cage. You'll be facing our reigning champion. He's swept through dozens of dolts like you for the past month or so. If you get hurt, you get hurt. Not my problem. You lose, well, you don't need to worry about that. You'll be dead."

Harry rolled around to meet a bright wandlight. Squinting and shielding his eyes, he made out the grinning face of his captor. His body was shrouded in shadows, his expression jubilant.

"You'll be given your wand of course," the man said lightly, "Not that it'll help you, but the Boss is merciful. Remember that. He _gave_ you _mercy_." Trying to stand up again, Harry received a kick to the gut. He wheezed heavily and clutched his midsection, falling onto his back once more. His pained groan was interrupted as a hand grabbed his hair and pulled him to his feet roughly. "Now, be a good boy and wait here."

The man turned around and walked away, leaving Harry in what appeared to be a dead end in some long hallway. It grew darker as the man retreated, his wandlight dimming. Terror pounded through him at the thought of what he would soon face. It was surreal – it seemed as if he had been thrown into an abstract reality. It felt to Harry only moments before where he had been walking with Ron and Hermione.

Clearing his head of the momentary nostalgia, he tried to focus on the issue at hand – a fight to the death. No matter how he thought of it, he couldn't think of it seriously. It seemed as if this was all some practical joke.

A feeling of irritation brought him back to reality. The opponent he would be facing - it had to be a powerful wizard if he had ripped through a months worth of challengers. He didn't fear dying – it was impossible as dictated by the prophecy - but that didn't stop him from becoming permanently disabled. He tried to run back through the hallway, only to slam into an invisible wall.

Pounding on what appeared to be thin air, he tried to get the disappearing man's attention. "What if I win?" he managed to bellow out.

A chuckle reverberated back to him. Faintly, he heard: "You get your freedom. However mangled you'll be after that isn't my problem."

Just as he was about to respond, the dead end behind him opened up, the cement melting away and reshaping into a doorway. The doorway seemed to lead to a small dark space. Just as he was to investigate, the area filled with an intense fire. Instead of the gentle flames that made floo passages, however, it was an inferno. Searing heat blasted into his face, making his eyes tear.

A powerful push behind him forced him through, making him stumble into the miniature hell. He prepared himself for pain, but it never came. Instead, it seemed as if he had frozen in midair in the middle of the flames. The world seemed to rush around him, wind whipping into his face and throwing his body into some weightless void. Just as Harry thought he could take no more, he tumbled onto a cold cement floor. Blinking confused, he got to his feet and looked around.

He was in the center of the cavern he had seen before, in a spotlight that stood out against the darkness around him. The orbs of light had reorganized around him, leaving him in the center.

Surrounding him was a crowd of people peering at him in eagerness. They were all wizards and witches, it seemed, most of them young (a useless observation, as many wizards in their early forties could still look twenty) and dressed fairly scantily. They were all shouting, chanting something he couldn't make out.

Opposite of him, an older man appeared. He dropped to the ground stiffly and stood up, strong and proud. He had long, braided dark red hair, far from the orange the Weasleys had. The dreadlocks hung all around his head, resting against his shoulders. A longish nose and an angular face crowed in triumph, the man's muscled arms spread as he spun slowly and absorbed the crowd's worshipping stares of admiration. Around his neck were various necklaces and lucky charms, with similar trinkets around his wrists that clinked loudly as they hit each other.

The people roared in approval, and just then Harry made out what they were chanting: Rip Rip Jack.

Jack jumped up and down a bit, twirling a wand around him, eliciting further sound from the crowd. A relatively unremarkable man dressed in a bright yellow robe parted the crowd and walked into the light, casting a quick "_Sonorus_!" on his throat.

"Welcome back, Wizards and Witches! It's midnight and once again, we find ourselves facing the main attraction. I see no need to introduce our crowd favorite –" the people cheered, momentarily drowning out his echoing voice, "but I am obligated to introduce to you all our new _challenger_…he tried to wrong the Boss, apparently, like most of our challengers, and is here to face…_judgment_. What do you think, Jack?"

The man grinned a twisted smile and flicked his wand heavily, performing a mostly superficial trick that emitted a stream of blood red sparks.

"Oh, it doesn't look good for our challenger. We'll name him…Richard, in honor of the Auror who tried, and failed, to catch our champion's namesake."

Harry tried to ignore the spectators, focusing only on the wizard starring him down. A wand dropped in front of him, his own, and rolled toward him. He looked behind him to see the Boss disappear back into his office. He picked his wand up, and immediately felt a burst of power flow through his arm.

"And now, the cage will be set…"

The concrete around him rumbled, almost knocking Harry to his feet. Cracks started appearing beneath them, tracing the circular, lighted area around Harry and the man. Giving off a deep groan, the thick floor broke off gradually and floated lazily upwards. The announcer leapt off soon after and continued while the platform kept rising. A circular chain link fence rose around them, growing upwards from the ground below them.

"Richard, eh?" The man who called himself Jack, asked. He circled Harry, moving in an odd, twisting fashion. "So you're going to play the Auror in our little dance?"

Harry didn't want to stay in the middle, so he moved right with the man. His wand was held out, right hand gripping the cool shaft tightly. Stiff, careful steps kept him circling the arena with his opponent.

Jack laughed harshly. "Have you ever dueled before, boy? You look like you came fresh out of school! This isn't a hallway clash for some _witch_…"

Harry couldn't help the insulted snarl that left his mouth. He'd done far more than that, fought far more powerful things…he wasn't just an _average _wizard…

A mild cutting curse flew at him with unbelievable speed, and it was only sheer luck that helped him avoid it. The cage behind him mended itself as the foot long gash cut through it. Harry had hardly even seen Jack move.

"You're just a mediocre, weak wizard, boy! I'll cut you up for my fans! It's what Rip Rip Jack does, after all!" he cackled. He shook his head wildly, causing his dreadlocks to fly around him.

Another cutting curse flew at him, but Harry put up a basic shield in time. The curse barely blocked the curse, the purple dome literally shattering in shards of magic. Energy crackled in the air at the force of the attack.

"A _Protego!_ He used a _Protego!_" Jack laughed, ignoring him completely and talking to the crowd. The people jeered and laughed at him, calling for his slow and tortured death. What normally made up average citizens had clearly become animals, fiendish beasts bent on enjoying the death and destruction of others.

Hatred boiled within him, and he took the opportunity to strike at the man when his back was turned.

"_Cultavio!_" he snarled.

He was surprised that the curse worked, racing out of his wand in a small indigo arc of light. Jack spun around and jumped out of the way, landing on a single hand before flipping himself back onto his feet. The crowd roared in glee.

"So the tyke knows some real curses?" He asked childishly as he landed, mimicking Bellatrix Lestrange's infuriating voice. "Can you save yourself, little boy?"

Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face. His head ached, and his limbs shook with anger. He felt as if he could sell his soul to make the man die, to scream in pain and submit to his power.

"_Crucio!" _he bellowed. A pitifully weak bout of red electric energy raced out to the unmoving man. He merely smiled and shrugged off the curse. The people silenced, shocked at his bold attempt of the torture curse.

The announcer roared at what he called a dishonorable act, but Harry was beyond caring. He was humiliated. Boos of cowardice filled the air, instigating Jack into reciprocating.

"And we know an unforgivable, do we?" he finally said quietly, before laughing. "If you want to take it to the next level, that's fine with me…in which case, I'll show you how it's _truly_ done…_CRUCIO!"_

A dark, crackling bolt of crimson rushed at Harry, spreading throughout his body. No matter how many times one experienced the cruciatus, it was never the same. Each felt as painful, if not more so than the past, every caster having a different feel to the pain inflicted as their individual feelings and reasons altered the results of the curse.

Harry couldn't bite back the scream as a burning sensation ate at his body and mind, wiping all other thoughts but begging for it to stop. He writhed on the cold concrete as all his weakness was exposed in front of a multitude of people.

The pain went as soon as it came, but it felt as if he had suffered for an eternity. Tears were streaming down his eyes, the desire to murder and take revenge for his pain and disgrace etched into his very soul.

Jack was parading around the platform, basking in his glory. He shouted and danced wildly, his charms and dreadlocks flailing all around him. Noticing his gaze, he simpered unapologetically, "Is that it? You're good as dead! Let me show you a hand…"

A fist caught him unawares, knocking him back down.

"Oops," he whispered loudly, gesturing dramatically to the delight of the onlookers.

Harry propped himself on his left hand, spitting out blood on the platform. He couldn't win this fight, not without…_him. _Harry could feel the characteristic sharpness that signified his presence in the back of his mind. A part of the Dark Lord's incredible magical prowess stood idly by to be used at his request…to protect, to ensure his continued survival…

No, he wouldn't be incapacitated to a mere half-life, living without a useful body and stuck in the living world. It would render him to the level of _his_ spirit form if he was truly killed. He couldn't allow that…he had to kill to save himself…

…_focus…_

Harry stood, standing up so suddenly Jack spun around to see what had happened.

…"_Tom?" Harry looked up to see caretaker standing in the porch next to two robed men, obviously wizards. Her eyes were slightly glazed…_

"_Yes, Mrs. Cole?" he answered politely, feeling his wand slight down his sleeve. She turned back toward the orphanage, procuring a letter as the visitors disappeared. She placed it in his hands before walking away in a disoriented fashion. Chancing another look at now empty porch, he glanced down at the creamy brown letter in his hand. An invitation perhaps? It had his name, but Tom could feel the stench of the dark alluring magic…Hopefully something greater…_

He moved aside, letting the oncoming severing charm pass by. He slashed his wand and let loose one of his own, this one with a darker tint to it.

…_He stood in a small pit, filthy and dressed in the most ragged of clothes. He came here often, to prove himself. It was the only way to become _his_ disciple, his protégé. Grown men came here to grovel and fight for the Dark Lord's attention…_

Jack leered, battering away the curse with a shield. The curse splintered against the powerful defense, the energy spilling outwards. Jack rushed toward Harry but was too slow to see the energy reassemble behind him and fly at his neck. He ducked, but the curse cut a long gash on his face. The brunt of it was deflected by many small, weak shields that activated just in time to prevent decapitation. The small charms around his neck were glowing fiercely.

…_Harry jabbed his wand, casting the same curse he had performed on the Head Boy five years before. The man in front of him, just another wizard seeking power like him, screamed in agony as his face was burnt off in a flourish of black flames…_

Jack hissed, his cheek bleeding. His face was clenched in anger, and he threw off the trinkets around his neck over the fence. The multitude of wizards and witches cheered and made a grab for them. Behind Jack, Harry could see a figure watching him from behind the darkened windows of the office.

_Harry felt someone's eyes resting upon him. A lone man stood watching them, _him, _with an unreadable look of approval…power was for the strong, and one had to fight to get it…_

Roaring, he ran towards Harry, baring his wand like a club. Energy swirled at the tip, making a slight high pitched whine. Slightly surprised by the physical nature of the attack, Harry threw his wand out, casting a physical shield above him. Jack's wand clanged against the invisible field with crushing force, rattling his arm to the bone.

Ignoring the pain, Harry stumbled backwards at the force. Looking up in time, he jumped out of the way of the next slash and cast a simple repelling charm to knock the charging man backwards.

Jack knocked the curse away with ease, causing it to rattle the surrounding cage with a small, faint shockwave of energy. Giving up with the brute force approach, he whipped his wand forward over his head, letting loose a stream of crackling magic.

Put on the defensive, Harry conjured a small log to intercept the unknown curse. The red colored wood was thrown into the fence before crashing downwards. It gave a slight quiver before beginning to rot at an incredible rate.

Giving it no more thought, Harry launched into a barrage of minor curses and jinxes, mostly to overwhelm and to give himself some time to devise a plan of attack. Relatively weak curses and jinxes flew from his wand as he analyzed the figure in front of him.

Jack made a slight sweeping gesture, gathering the curses behind his wand's lead and threw them back at Harry with a grunt. The move was a magically draining one, Harry knew. His opponent, it appeared, aimed to appease his crowd first.

Feeling slightly drained himself, Harry merely dodged the combined assault, preferring to conserve his untrained and still slightly premature reserves of magic. Taking advantage of the momentary hesitation in his enemy, he conjured some sharp stones and banished them with a sharp flick of his wand.

Still fully alert, Jack made an arc over the oncoming stones and transfigured them into a large, stone hawk. Animating it in the same motion, he sent it back along with a myriad of small curses.

Harry swore, trying diving out of the reach of the stone avian's massive claws. Despite his attempts, it grazed his back, cutting through his robes and tearing a long gash into his back. Biting back the scream of pain, he turned around, back to the floor. Instincts taking over, he transfigured the Hawk with a serpentine motion. The hawk fell, deforming as it plunged back to the concrete next to his feet. True to the nature of his wand movements, the mass of stone lengthened into a large viper, a large scale replica of one he had seen before.

…"_Kill him!" Harry watched in satisfaction as his creation bit the man in the neck, bringing his opponent to his feet…He looked up again to see the lined face of the brown robed man light up with a slight smile on his face. A red pinwheel design on his breast identified him clearly…seizing the chance, Harry ended his opponent's life with a shining red beam of light. _

Curling protectively around him, the snake's stone hide absorbed the mass of approaching curses. Letting out a slight hiss, Harry directed it to strike back. Nobody seemed to hear the parseltongue slipping from his mouth over the mass of sound.

Confused at the lack of a behavior charm, and beaten by the snake's faster movement, a pair of long fangs sunk into Jack's shoulder. Letting out a brief grunt, he gritted his teeth. Hiding behind the bulk of the snake to dodge more curses from Harry, he brought his wand up and destroyed the head of the snake.

Harry watched as the agile man became engulfed in a cloud of broken stone and dust. He waved his wand to rid the air of the obstructing material, eliciting a small wind to push it away.

Visibility returned, only to show the disappearance of his opponent. Harry looked around quickly, backing himself against a corner in an attempt to minimize the success of a surprise attack. A curse knocked him back into the middle of the platform, making him trip over the carcass of the now still snake.

Looking at the source, he a saw Jack remove a disillusionment charm with his wand. Noticing the fact that it was in his _left_ hand now, Harry attempted a basic attack. Instead of blocking it with clumsy wandwork, as he suspected, a perfectly formed shield dispelled the attack.

"It pays to be ambidextrous." Jack said with a cold smile, quickly vanishing the stone fangs and applying a rudimentary healing charm to prevent further blood loss. Panting slightly at the inadequate medical attention, he nevertheless straightened himself while Harry scrambled back to his feet and into a dueling stance.

The wizards and witches below them roared with excitement, the magically amplified voice of the announcer booming and echoing in the cavern.

Jack began to circle once more, forcing Harry to quickly follow. The man spared the crowd a glance, fixing them with a fond look before turning to Harry with a crazed, but serious expression.

"Listen to them! They love watching us fight, duel to the death like brutish animals…These people love blood, mutilation, the reduction of their civilized behavior! They're all ordinary people, your ministry workers, your Diagon Alley employees, your pub tenders, petty thieves, some half-blooded, others pureblooded…they come here after all the toiling they do in the day, all the news of _Voldemort_, all the disappearances, all the dull and unimportant events that makes up their pathetic and boring lives to experience death, danger, fury, and excitement!"

Harry shielded another rotting curse and sidestepped a lazily cast dismemberment curse. The words were familiar to him, in a way, but he couldn't recall from where. Waiting for an opening, he banished the stone snake at Jack to force a brief pause in his casting.

The man twirled his wand and swept it away, the carcass widening out of existence in a brief flash. Harry followed his attack with a liquidizing charm, causing the momentarily distracted Jack to sink into the concrete past his ankles.

Realizing what had happened, Jack quickly put up a cubic conjured metal wall around him, the fourth side the cage itself, as he hid behind it to unstick himself. Frustrated at the thick iron, Harry battered it with curses, knowing the material was too fresh to be easily dispelled by someone else's magic like the snake. A whipcrack behind him made him turn around, only to be sent back into wall by a curse.

Harry felt his breath tighten as he slid to the floor in pain. He realized in fury that Jack had dissaparated once he had extricated himself from the trap. Further anger came at the thought that he wouldn't be able to dissaparate himself, lacking a license. Trying to would only reveal his location.

He tried standing up, but felt a stabbing pain on his left side. It felt like he was breathing through a straw. Making it to his feet, he felt weak at the lack of oxygen his now collapsed left lung forced on him. Making shallow gasps, he breathed with much labor. It was the tell tale sign of the lung piercing curse.

Jack, fortunately, did not look too much better. Conjuring such a massive, showy defense after the periodic costly spells he performed had obviously taken its toll. The man, while magically powerful, obviously had his limits. He was leaning on the side of the cage, head lolled back. His eyes remained on Harry, however.

"I think I'll have a drink!"

He grinned as he brought his hands up and performed a strange hand signal toward the announcer. The crowd silenced suddenly, before breaking out into mixed laughter and confusion.

Harry continued breathing delicately and shallowly, grimacing every time he breathed too forcefully. He watched in disbelief as a part of the cage disappeared, allowing Jack to step down and jump off the ring.

"It looks like Jack's using the Champion's option!" the announcer roared, delighted at the act. "For our new patrons, it's the Champion's hard won gift to be able to pause a duel once a night in order to acquaint himself with a puffing Absinthe and a lucky lady's quick charm…" Harry tried to scramble out of the death chamber as well, only to see the cage seal in front of him. "And our challenger tries to escape! It seems he doesn't know the rules very well…"

Harry growled as the crowd laughed at his lack of knowledge. It seemed unfair that only the champions could halt a duel once for a quick shot at the bar. Although it sounded harmless and probably only designed to amuse the crowd and insult the contender, it was infinite opportunity for some sort of low handed trick. Perhaps it even explained the wizard's winning streak…

He watched in incredulity as Jack swaggered through the crowd in exhaustion as he made his way to the bar. Taking advantage of the time he was given, Harry pointed his wand at himself, remembering a long unused charm to counter the effects of the curse. White, _disturbing _light flooded out of his wand, illuminating his chest. He grit his teeth, unwilling to cry out at the pain of stitching ones' lung up via a quick charm.

Attempting to distract himself, he fell to his haunches as he watched Jack down a smoking blue drink. A pale, similarly red headed woman looking somewhat like Jack himself joined his side from the crowd, effortlessly latching on to his arm.

Jack grinned, and kissed the strange, but beautiful young woman. Her red hair fell around his head as she deepened it. Harry frowned, wincing at a sudden spike in pain from his chest. The woman looked like a relative of Jacks', perhaps a cousin or sister, but then, purebloods were known to enter into incestuous relationships.

Lung repaired and reinflated, Harry got back to his feet shakily, but still could not take his eyes away from the ethereal witch. She seemed to press kisses down his chin, lingering on his neck for a brief moment, but eventually drew back. Hands passing agonizingly slow over Jack's shoulders, she seemed to glide over him once more before retreating back into the crowd.

Harry could no longer locate her, but dismissed the thought as the man reentered the cage. The steel opened to allow an energized looking Jack step in. His skin seemed to glow, his arms looked even thicker than before. His eyes were fixed on Harry, his form exuding a sense of power.

"We'll just be resuming the duel then, right Richard?" He gave no opportunity to answer, following up his statement with a flick of his wand. The simple movement seemed to blast Harry off his feet. The wind was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for air once more.

Jack stepped next to him, glancing down at his form. A sadistic look took his face as he lifted his boot above Harry's head and slammed it downward.

Throwing himself out of the way, he gasped as his left hand was crushed by another boot. His bones cracked and groaned under the pressure, breaking more than a few. Jack lifted his foot slowly, kicking Harry away from him.

Rolling to his knees, Harry cradled his left hand, thankful only that his wand hand was left untouched. Through the haze of pain, he realized his fears of foul play had been confirmed. His chances of surviving the duel were rapidly diminishing – he was tired and worn out, where Jack had somehow managed to strengthen himself beyond even normal levels.

A mass of fire flourished out of Jack's wand toward him, forcing Harry to create a jet of water to counter it. The combination neutralized each other with a resounding hiss, steam quickly filled the cage and obscuring his sight once again.

A dark shadow came into view in front of him, coalescing into a distinct form. Jabbing his wand forward quickly, he cast a powerful freezing spell. The mass of water in the air contracted instantly, encasing Jack's front in a mold of ice.

Moving hastily, he took aim at the momentarily frozen figure. The man's wand was already emitting soft glow, signaling his impeding escape.

"_Explusem!_" he shouted, forgetting all pretense of secrecy. The repulsing charm threw Jack backwards breaking through the ice. Swishing his wand outward, the steam flew out of the cage, revealing a bloodied Jack getting up from the other side of the ring.

His skin was cracked like parched soil, clothes literally broken. Despite his injuries, he recovered quickly, repairing his robes and casting a quick coagulating charm. Within seconds he was running toward an unready Harry.

Desperate, Harry summoned a piece of the broken ice, banishing it the oncoming juggernaut while attempting to move out of the way. The sharp ice punctured Jack's abdomen, but he didn't seem to show any indication of pain. Instead, he managed to pin Harry against the opposite cage wall roughly, pressing his wand to Harry's neck.

He breathed heavily, blood dripping from his face and arms despite the numerous healing charms. His dreadlocks fell around his head, but failed to mask the look of victory on his face.

"It looks like I've won, Richard," he said darkly. Moving closer, he pushed his wand further into Harry's neck, its tip growing uncomfortably hot with Jack's magic reacting to his anticipation of a curse.

"We'll cut, rip, decapitate, won't we?…And it's all for a good cause…" he said more to himself than Harry, biting his broken lip. The loud voices of the spectators were becoming deafening, chanting Jack's alias.

Harry looked up at Jack and returned his cheery look, a sudden idea blossoming into his mind. His wand was still in his hand, and while he wouldn't' be able to attack Jack directly, he could still defeat him…

Jack suddenly reared back, roaring in pain as one of his dreadlocks bit him in the eye, transfigured into a snake. The rest of his dreadlocks became snakes as well, snapping at each other with hisses and sinking their fangs throughout his face. He dropped his wand, grasping at his destroyed eye in desperation. Harry goaded them on in parseltongue, dropping to his feet and watching the spectacle. Within a few moments, Jack was writhing on the floor, attempting to pull the snakes out of his scalp. He was screaming wildly, tearing at his head.

Harry stood up earnestly, noticing a sudden change in the people watching. A unanimous laughter was taking the crowd, their object of amusement now Jack instead of Harry. They started roaring _his_ name instead of Jack's, eliciting a broad smile on the young wizard's face.

He walked up to the unarmed and severely injured Jack slowly, raising his wand. The people chanted for his death, letting out calls of approval.

Struck by a cruel, but amusing inspiration, he transfigured the man's body to stone up to the neck. As one couldn't die as a result of a transfiguration, Jack's body remained bound, magic sustaining his head. His face was but a myriad of snake bites, blood like thick tears coming from the two perforated orbs of his eyes now.

Disappointed that the man wouldn't be able to see his own death, Harry stopped the snakes to let him at least hear. Waiting for the fallen, pained man to notice him, he mimicked Jack's former expression for the audience's advantage, placing his foot on his broad chest.

"Yes, we _will_ do that Jack…" Harry mused with cruel, faux wonder, aiming his wand at a small bruise on his opponent's neck, "…And, as you said, it's all for a good cause…_diffindo!" _The basic cutting charm unleashed a blade of light that took off Jack's virtually mutilated head, making it roll backwards a few times before falling to a stop.

Harry stepped backwards tiredly, elated at his survival. His left hand hurt badly, as did the gashes on his back. They weren't bleeding, but they stung painfully. Still, he was alive, the winner of the hellish battle. He was superior.

Wild cheering filled Harry's perception, making him bask in the _glory _of it all. _This_ was _power_.

…_Harry looked up at Lord Grindelwald, his dead foe sprawled by his foot. The Dark Lord seemed pleased. Long, pale fingers snapped, and a long stairway assembled itself from the stone making up the wall of the pit, leading to the dark wizard's side in the observation area. Pride burst in Harry's chest. _

_Success was his and his alone…_

The announcer screamed out his alias, proclaiming him the new champion. The irony and method of Jack's death didn't escape anyone's notice, nor the level of the spell that killed him. Harry could see the people in the crowd exchanging money, no doubt collecting their bets.

The platform began to lower itself back into its former position, the cage receding back into the ground. Any thoughts of him being hounded by the crowd disappeared as Harry observed the people dispersing away from the spectacle, all concerns forgotten. The frenzy and excitement had all died down, and all but a few gave him more than a second look.

A wisp of disappointment filled him, a small sense of entitlement spurring his slight anger before he remembering it was better this way; he didn't need any attention. Shaking away the odd thought – Voldemort's, he hoped – he watched as the orbs of light spun in a circle several rounds above the receding platform before shooting to their respective positions, restoring the soft, blue hue of light that illuminated the complex.

The wizards and witches quickly moved about themselves, spreading out into the newly reclaimed space, laughing and bustling as if a man hadn't just been slaughtered in front of them. Harry observed the announcer walk onto the area where they had dueled before and levitate it away like common refuse, casting a couple of cleaning charms to clean the blood.

A sudden mood change took the area, as a low beat thrummed to life around them, a powerful, almost living sound that pounded into the ubiquitous beat of the nightlife. The thick, humid air became infused with life, the mindless figures surrendering themselves to oblivion. The transition was quick and seamless, the bloodthirsty onlookers now ignorant of all but their own, winding sweaty world.

Jack's words sprung to life, and he suddenly recalled the purpose of the Underground. It was a place to let go of all the fear, menial work, pains of a pointless life. Here they could, for a brief moment, drown their sorrows and forget, let themselves go to the baser, finer instincts.

The tingly feeling of flowing magic suffused the atmosphere here, radiating off the congregation of so many emotionally charged people. It was intoxicating to behold. Still, he couldn't shake the sense of danger the exuded from the place. He knew, somehow, that the Boss would hold his vows, but the Death Eater he saw from before made him anxious. The Dark Lord was doubtless sinking his hooks to every level of society.

* * *

Antonin Dolohov stepped out of the fireplace, the flames flaring behind him. He adjusted his robes smartly and shuffled slowly out of the smallish, dusty room, ignoring the pain in his permanently damaged leg.

He hadn't seen the Dark Lord in close to a month now, the dark wizard having left the country to oversee the operations of his Death Eaters in the mainland. He'd heard rumors of Dumbledore and his Order causing trouble, requiring Lord Voldemort himself to coordinate and better hide his men from the authorities and the ever powerful Headmaster.

Supposedly the two had dueled once again, only this time Dumbledore had retreated, his Order not far behind him. Despite this victory, much of the lower ranked Death Eaters had been caught or killed in Spain, exposing Voldemort's influence and undermining developments in Western Europe. He wasn't sure what the Dark Lord had planned, but it wasn't the brazen attacks of the first war. Those, while infusing much in the way of fear, were useless in this new era of combat. The nations of Europe would not fall to just terror and murder. No, victory was only possible through manipulation and the corruption of governments in place. Rebuilding and reestablishing rule from rubbed ruins was not an efficient method of achieving power.

Dolohov limped slightly across the hall, toward the safe house's only lit room. He straightened his back, and schooled any hint of fear from his face. His master despised weakness and terror in his Inner Circle, calling them unnecessary in _loyal_ followers. Only traitors had reason to fear.

Or those who failed. Ignoring the growing sense of dread in his stomach, he walked into the hazily lit room. Here, another fireplace was lit, crackling with an almost frightening ferocity, exuding an abnormal level of heat.

The Dark Lord stood in the center of the unbearably hot room, fantastically tall and powerful. His robes were loose fitting, sweeping down across his frame to the floor, where the hems spread out and floated a mere inch from the filthy wood.

His hood was off, and Dolohov could see his deathly white face, hellish, ruby eyes focusing directly at him. His terrible nose quivered once, before a sickening smile took his thin lips. Despite all his preparation, Dolohov, like his comrades, quickly shifted his gaze to the much less intimidating robes that covered his master's body, averting his look exactly as he was instructed not to.

"Antonin," Voldemort chuckled, a hint of warning in his voice. "You will look upon your master's face when he addresses you."

Dolohov looked up instantly, mumbling an ignored apology.

"As you already know, I have been attending to matters on the international front for quite some time. However, I distinctly remember placing you in charge of the attack on Harry Potter's home."

The Russian Death Eater forced himself not to quail under the stare, relieved only in the fact that the Dark Lord did not seem angry. Pacing around him, the wizard stared off into space as he continued.

"While the Death Eaters that escaped, including Jugson and Wormtail, notified me of the outcome, I have no word on what happened within. Your last remaining subordinate apparently died by your hand due to understandable reasons." Here he stopped close to Dolohov, voice smooth and silky. "My probes into his memory were incomplete, however, and I desire your report. You must have _quite_ the story to tell…"

Dolohov shifted slightly, before answering with a firm voice, head held high with a neutral expression, staring straight ahead. "All went well at first, and the trap worked as you said it would. Potter returned to his home, where we lay in wait. The boy however, proved more intelligent that we had initially planned, and he tricked the initial capturing group and entered through the rear entrance."

Voldemort listened, and continued his movement.

"Here he demonstrated himself much more capable. He apparently killed the only Death Eater in the kitchen and made his way back toward the front, where he also eliminated the capturing group. I heard this, and decided to let the boy pursue Pettigrew as was planned up the stairs. There, he killed one of Jugson's and Pettigrew's guard once he learnt to remove our vials. The - "

"Harry Potter killed five Death Eaters?" Voldemort interrupted, face inscrutable. He seemed to speaking more to himself than Dolohov, descending into thought. Recognizing this, he stood silent until his master once again gestured toward him to continue a few moments later.

"The rest of my team finished off the Uncle and the cousin, leaving the Aunt alive for the wards. We cornered Potter, where I did as you instructed, asking him before kidnapping him. With the wards were changed to accommodate us soon after, rendering Potter completely trapped. He unleashed a curse, however, one of your own I believe, surprising us in its power. There we fell, all but myself and Daniels still alive. Potter began to duel me, utilizing prowess that I am sure was not present in the Department of Mysteries. Daniels then killed the Aunt in his stupidity, destroying the wards and alerting the Order of the Phoenix. We left soon after, as did the others."

Dolohov knew he was greatly understating some of what had happened, but knew if he was to be punished, it wouldn't matter in the end.

The Dark Lord stopped his pacing, looking thoughtful. His ruby eyes closed for a moment before he looked down at the Death Eater. Lazily, he murmured, "Thank you, Dolohov, your services are, as always, appreciated." He then made his way briskly out of the room, leaving the surprised Russian blinking confusedly in his wake. All the men killed, the plans gone to waste, and Voldemort was not at all concerned or angry?

The powerful wizard paused in mid stride, laughing. Speaking in an amused tone, he turned around, once again facing his servant. "As your thoughts clearly announce, I am not angry. I had not planned on these events occurring, but nevertheless, you have done well." Here, he frowned slightly, speaking cryptically. "_Better_, in fact, than I had initially hoped. Yet, there is more at work than you know, and there is still much to be undertaken before all comes clear. You will be summoned in a few days with your next assignment."

Dolohov nodded quickly, numb in relief. Internally, he pondered the meaning of the words he had just heard. The sound of the Dark Lord disapparating snapped him back to attention, leaving him gazing at the light circle of smoke disappearing rapidly in Lord Voldemort's wake. Extinguishing the fire, he took one last look at the odd, empty room before following suit.

* * *

Harry stood at the edge of the masses of bodies, leaning at the edge of the bar where several wizards and witches sat inebriated, others carrying drinks back into the thick forest of grinding and twisting people.

To his left sat a few others drinking strange potions and inhaling black powder, both of which Harry assumed were magical drugs. Many took a drink from the bar and sampled some of powder, which he had recognized as Onyx, before rejoining the masses. Their irises went completely dark, features dulling slightly as the potent substance too effect.

Still stranger was the mesmerizing, ubiquitous beat. He had tried finding the source of the almost sentient music, but could find no equivalent to muggle speakers. The sound simply was, and it thrummed through his essence in an almost intrusive, demanding way. It was only his strong will that kept him from joining the crowd and letting himself go, submitting to the allure.

He shoved these thoughts away, thinking about his plans. He had nowhere to go, no money to spend, was painfully injured, and defenseless unless Voldemort's seemingly spontaneous persona made an appearance. Harry was beginning to think it had a mind of its own, interfering only when it sought death, destruction, revenge, and other darker ideals.

All knowledge of healing charms had disappeared, except the one he had used from before. He managed a crude _Ferulla _to wrap his crushed hand and a basic clotting charm to stop the various scratches on his body from bleeding.

A flash of red hair filled his vision suddenly, making him recoil backwards into the wall in surprise. He looked to see the back of the beautiful young woman he had observed from before rapidly disappearing in the throngs of wizards and witches.

_The girl with Jack..._

He looked around, but could find no trace of her. She could have escaped from the crowd, which was a likely place to hide. Yet, he was following _her_ – could she be leading him somewhere dangerous? It wasn't improbable that she was hostile, seeking some sort of revenge.

Still, a sort of niggling curiosity and somber attraction made him step forward. It was a morbid affair, pursuing the woman of the man he had just killed, but it was a winding, appealing one. Even though all logic screamed for him to pull away and run, his body moved forward on its own accord, tired but intrigued. His wand was still in his good hand, the heightened danger and excitement reawakening the sharp, ruthless alertness that had faded gradually only an hour or so before. Time didn't seem to pass normally in this place, so he wasn't sure.

Pushing and shoving his way into the mass of people, a young witch, not much older than he grabbed him by the waist, dragging him closer. She rested her head on his shoulder, whispering something he couldn't identify. Her hot breath brushed over his ear, hands falling lower. He turned around and tore her hands off, ignoring her delighted pleas as he winced at the contact with his broken hand. Others did the same, playfully grabbing and pushing him toward others, impeding his progress. It didn't seem to be coordinated, but Harry didn't let his guard down.

Several more times he caught glimpses of her only a hand's reach away before she was obstructed by others. By the time Harry made his way there, she had gone. Frustrated, Harry made his way to the other side, eyes narrowed as he looked around him.

As he looked, however, he noticed someone he hadn't expected to see at all – Mundungnus Fletcher. The man spotted him at the same time as Harry did him, making running impossible. He wasn't even sure from where to leave, and doubtless he had Order members outside.

Fletcher looked surprised, looking him over suspiciously. "Harry?" His grimy hair hung down his face, failing to hide a cautious gaze. His eyes raked over Harry's forehead, before they widened.

Harry didn't bother denying it, knowing, somehow, that while his scar was concealed from total strangers, those who already suspected him and knew him personally would easily break through the weak notice-me-not charm he had somehow cast on himself.

"We've got to leave this place Potter!" he said suddenly with a gruff voice, acting more brazen and brave than Harry knew he really was. It seemed that the man had only just arrived, and had missed Harry's duel. It wouldn't be too difficult to overpower and leave, but that didn't mean he could escape.

He was saved from any further action when a particularly loud cough was heard behind them. The two turned around to see the Boss himself flanked by his two men. The thin man, was, again, taking the lead, speaking for the three.

"I see you've got some company, Richard!" the man said nastily, flashing a dangerous smile at Fletcher. The Order member paled, shuffling behind Harry somewhat. Harry ignored both of them, watching the Boss instead. There was something curious about the man, and if he could somehow use Fletcher as a bargaining chip…

"Yes, he's with me." Harry said suddenly, smiling. The other, larger man chuckled, his thick voice pounding out a retort.

"Is he now? We've wanted him for quite some time. A matter of debt. Last time we tried to put him in the pit, he escaped. We're still not sure how…" The Boss nodded behind the two, his facial expressions matching his two subordinate's speech.

"But you won't mind if we take him away then, do you?" The thin man said abruptly, picking up where his counterpart left off." The Boss smiled wanly, tilting his head inquisitively.

Which could serve him better? Harry knew that while the Boss was undoubtedly more powerful, his interests would always be ahead of Harry's. There could be no trusting the man. Dung, on the other hand, while not much better, was bound to the Order to at least safeguard him. He would have, in the end, more of a concern for him.

The matter settled, he drew his band in a dramatic manner. He hid his injured hand behind him, not allowing any sign of weakness to show. "But you'll forget that, won't you? I did win today, and I think you should let me escort Mr. Fletcher out."

All three narrowed their eyes simultaneously, and the two men in front of the Boss seemed to want to attack. They restrained themselves, however, relaxing as the man with the tick spoke, a hint of anger in his voice.

"It seems we have no choice but to let your companion go, Mr. Richard. Know, however, that if Mr. Fletcher finds himself in our parts without you in the near future, we won't be as lenient."

The group disapparated away, leaving Harry alone with Dung once again. Watching the area where the wizards had occupied only moments ago, Harry spun around and held the shorter man against the wall. Harry mimicked Jack, placing the wand onto his neck, resting the wand on his wrist.

"I guess that means you owe me a life debt, doesn't it?" He asked sardonically. Fletcher nodded nervously, his hands limply fallen to his sides. Despite all his survival skills, the Order member was, in a real confrontation, a coward to the core.

"Well then," Harry said quietly, dropping Dung to the floor, "Tell me how to escape without the Order knowing. If I know the Order enough, it's that you aren't here alone. Doubtless there are others waiting outside. Lupin, perhaps?"

Fletcher quickly stood up next to him, shrinking under his stern stare. He visibly trembled, trying to ignore the less than subtle against him to repay the debt. His mouth opened, however, before too much struggle. "No, no, not at all…Lupin isn't part of the…well, he isn't here. Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt are assigned with your retrieval. I guided them here. Since they're Aurors, though, and naturally want to shut down a place like this, they're unable to enter."

Harry didn't miss Fletcher's slip about Lupin, and resolved to interrogate him later about it. Still watching his surroundings while Dung spoke, he kept watch for the possibly dangerous woman. The two were near the strange booths he had observed earlier. Several men in dark cloaks sat nearby them, tending to the side of the contraption.

Death Eaters.

An obviously intoxicated witch shuffled almost dizzily to the booth, following the exit of another. She dropped inside, and the glass extended itself around her, sealing her in. Harry could see her blurred form slump on a seat inside, limbs splayed. The Death Eater fiddled with something before seating himself again, face completely obscured.

An almost imperceptible glow seemed to light up the inside of the capsule before it faded away. A slight moan reached Harry's ears as the girl within arched her back slightly, letting her head fall backwards. A slight shimmer seemed to surround her body, before extending to the other side of the glass. The witch took no notice, seemingly lost to the world entirely.

Harry watched her for a few more moments before looking back to Dung, who had settled to watch the goings as well, a longing, but slightly sickened expression on his face. Noticing that Harry had turned his attention back to him, he continued, fidgeting slightly, this time choosing his words more carefully.

"There's a lot of ways outside the Underground. Easiest way out that I didn't tell Tonks and Kingsley about are the service walkways to the muggle warehouses. From there we can…_I_ can apparate you out to wherever you need to go."

Sending one last look at the eerie looking row of booths, Harry followed Fletcher's lead out of the new world he had discovered.

* * *

**A/N:** That was far longer than I intended. 

Please Review!

Amerision


	7. Within Reason, Without Question

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**Chapter Seven: **Within Reason, Without Question

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"_They say civilization is something great… something powerful and cohesive that separates man from beast. But you can't bind chaos. You can't bind fear and all the other primal emotions that drive humanity. Control these, and you command everything." _– The Dark Lord Grindelwald

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Harry and Dung found themselves in a wet, dingy backstreet that smelled of dust.. The alternate exit Fletcher had led him through had been cramped and dirty, but ensured that they wouldn't be found by the Order.

Dung stopped for a moment, looking around as if to make sure his act of treason had gone unseen. Harry knew the sense of duty that Dumbledore could lay on a man – violating the trust of the wizard was almost unthinkable. Harry ignored his own feelings of guilt and pushed the shorter wizard forward. He kept his wand in his sleeve so as not to antagonize the Order member further. Despite the binding nature of the life debt, Harry had no doubt that he could push the man too far. Exhaustion was creeping into his limbs and he could feel the adrenaline sinking away. He didn't want to depend on Voldemort's _taint_ any more than he needed to.

Gingerly placing his injured left hand into his cloak pocket, Harry walked with Fletcher back to the main alleyway, moving away from the establishment they had left and entering the still bustling crowds. The night air was fresh, and still smelled of the ocean. The large sailing ships still entered the port, unloading their goods before disappearing back into the curious fog that was making its way inland.

"We'll probably want to get yah someplace to stay for the night," Dung mumbled. Looking at Harry's hand, he added, "You might want to get that looked by someone too... I'll try to dig up someone good at healing charms. I could get yah some Skele-Grow, but it's mighty dangerous if yeh don't know what yer doin'..."

Harry couldn't help but agree. His hand throbbed painfully against the tightly bound wrap he had applied, feeling impossibly hot. Each step jarred the broken bones, which sent lances of pain up his arm.

Harry followed Dung to a dilapidated, multilevel building that bore a slight resemblance to the Burrow in shape. The dark red wood was dull and splinted, with the entire structure leaning to the side and resting on the nearby warding shop. Bags of trash sat next to the front steps, apparently too much to simply floo off to the dump in the fireplace or vanish with a wand.

Fletcher motioned Harry up the creaky stairs and through the door. A sign hung nearby, proclaiming in fading letters: VACANCIES AVAILABLE. Beneath it was attached a smaller addition: SQUIBS NEED NOT ENTER.

As Harry entered the door, he was struck by the strong smell of heavy liquor. It wasn't the posh, light wine that Petunia was fond of drinking, nor was it like the flaming absinthe the club had served. It smelt of the heavy, oily drinks that Uncle Vernon brought home time to time. Harry could see that the firewhiskey he had consumed in Hogwarts from time to time held no place among the selection here.

A couple of warlocks got up for Dung, yelling his name and making their way toward him on unsteady feet. Harry watched as the man greeted them heartily, beckoning him closer. Fletcher grabbed a green, frothing drink from a rather manly barmaid and downed it quickly, slamming it back on the table. He sidled smoothly up to the large woman and spoke in hushed tones with her. She frowned, and put her large hands on her massive hips before nodding and returning to her cleaning.

A young boy dressed in a faded uniform pulled Harry's sleeve, addressing him formally. Harry turned around and gazed downward at the dirty looking child. The boy handed him a rusty skeleton key before taking his cloak and prodding him up the stairs.

Fletcher followed them up the well worn staircase and through the shoddy corridors. Various doors lined the hallways, unevenly spaced and colored differently. The ceiling was leaking in several places, yellowed and even blackened in certain spots. The carpet was ridiculously soft as well, their feet sinking deep into its depths.

Strange wizards and witches walked past them. Harry couldn't help but grin as he saw Dung's eyes following an overdone, but nevertheless gorgeous witch as she walked past. She bore a passing resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy, which reminded him of several insults he'd dealt to her son over the years.

It didn't take long for Harry to realize what kind of inn he had entered. Although slightly repulsed, he walked on all the same, deeming it his best option at the moment. The building was most likely a safe location for him to hide, as it was unlikely anyone would look for him there.

When they arrived at the room a few minutes later, Fletcher shooed the boy away with his wand, muttering something about a "little thief".

Opening the door with the key, Harry found a small plate next to the handle with the inscription 'willing' displayed in a bright red script. Dung glanced over and tapped his wand on the plate next to the handle, changing the words to 'resting'. Entering, Fletcher shut the door behind them and did a quick check for any surveillance charms. Finding none, he pocketed the short instrument and faced Harry.

"All right. I've got to return to Tonks and Shacklebolt. They're probably alarmed already, and more than a little suspicious. You stay here until the morn - nobody should bother yeh 'til then. I'll try to get back as soon as I can."

Harry nodded tiredly, grateful. "Don't forget to keep your eyes out for any Death Eaters."

Fletcher paused, but nodded after a brief internal struggle. Straightening up, he smiled grimly, yellowing teeth gleaming under a dirty mustache. "Don't go on without me. Someone's got to be save yer ruddy arse now and then..."

Harry watched him go, eyes narrowed. He didn't need anyone to save him. He'd saved Fletcher, not the other way around. He'd done far more than the _Order of the Phoenix_ and their... _his_ Headmaster.

Harry sighed. Despite it all, he didn't at all mind being protected again. For all the limitations he had to endure with the Order, he didn't have to look over his back every second in fear of death. Grimmauld Place was clean, sheltered, and safe.

He examined the lacy, pink bed from afar, not daring to step too close. There were torn frills on the heart shaped pillows along with a stray article of clothing Harry couldn't identify. Although there weren't any overt stains or discolorations, he was still wary about touching it.

Settling himself into a fairly clean looking chair, he lifted his broken hand with his other arm slowly, placing it on the nearby table with a pained hiss. Dropping his wand from his sleeve into his hand, he cast a locking charm on the door and a simple warning spell to notify him if the doors were to be opened.

Although there wasn't much protecting him from intruders, he _was_ unlikely to be located. He reasoned that his anonymity and the slim chance that anyone would venture into a brothel to find him would be enough to sustain him through the night. Assured that he would be waking unharmed the next day, he let go of his wand for what seemed like the first time in years and stretched, eager to relax somewhat.

He glanced at a small, plastic clock in the corner and read the time as he propped his legs up on another chair. Shifting into a comfortable position, he let go of his thoughts and settled into the stiff cushions, happy to finally rest. Mind at ease, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dung lit his pipe and inhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead with the bottom of his palm. He pulled his cloak around him and hurried out of the seedy establishment, circling out behind the club to mask where he had come from.

He'd gotten himself into worse situations, but this one felt far more dangerous. He'd agreed to guard the mild-mannered boy for Dumbledore only because he trusted the Headmaster's wards. It was easy and carried little risk.

Breathing out heavy smoke, he spotted the small shop the two Order members had hidden themselves in. He instinctively looked around him, attempting to spot anyone nosy - in his world, the smallest shred of knowledge in the wrong hands could kill you.

With another glance to sure the area was clear, he moved to the building.

His commitment to the Order had always been tenuous at best, staying only because of Dumbledore's protection from the law. Now he'd gone from redundant watchman to a personal assistant in a quest to settle a vendetta.

A vendetta was all that could explain Potter's motivations, if even that. Nothing else could change the admittedly stupid looking youth to a violent, pushy brute with confidence that just neared arrogance.

Obviously Harry had done _something_ if the Boss respected his word, and he didn't think it was ending the first war that did it. The Boss and his men were far more dangerous than they appeared, and although he was grateful Potter had intervened and saved his life, he didn't think Dumbledore would at all approve.

He was honor bound to both men, torn to different sides. He'd have to plan his movescarefully.

Stepping into another side street, he made his way behind the docks and tapped once on a wooden beam with his wand, muttering a password.

In an instant, Tonks and Shacklebolt appeared behind him, wands to his back. Fletcher ignored the threatening wands, waiting for a second before tapping the wood again and repeating the password.

Satisfied, they turned him around. Shacklebolt walked around them, casting a powerful anti-eavesdropping charm. Tonks walked up, looking anxious.

"Did you find him?" She asked with a mixture of self-loathing and anger in her voice. Harry's escape seemed to have been a severe blow to her pride. Dung shook his head dejectedly and looked at the ocean behind her, watching the duo from the corner of his eyes as he puffed his pipe in a nonchalant manner.

"Bloody hell," she muttered angrily, pushing her hands through her thick black hair. "Dumbledore's going to be livid. And it's all my fault." She slammed her small fist on the wooden beam.

Shacklebolt didn't bother to placate her, looking disappointed with Tonks himself. "Alastor came around before I left and told me Dumbledore was letting loose Osiric and his men to hunt down Potter if we didn't find him first."

Tonks paled as she turned, hair lightened somewhat. "Osiric? Is Dumbledore _mad_?" she gasped with slight horror. "He might as well be caught by Death Eaters!"

Dung looked up, interest piqued. "Osiric Rogers? Dumbledore's new bloke from the Hit-Wizard Core?" The sun had still yet to rise, casting a blood red glow on them all.

Shacklebolt looked at him warily, still not truly trusting him. "Yes. It seems the boy is more important than we thought if Dumbledore is sending him in. We all know he's the Boy-Who-Lived, but that's not justification enough for Dumbledore to expend this many resources. Alastor hates Rogers more than he hates even You-Know-Who."

"Why?" Fletcher asked. The information might be useful to him, if not Harry as well.

Shacklebolt looked reluctant to answer, but Tonks responded instead, eyes darkening. "He's just as bad as the rest of them - the Death Eaters I mean. Everyone thinks Mad-Eye was a shady Auror, using the Dark Arts and all. He was a bit heavy-handed, and he did use torture every now and then, but it was never really anything unreasonable. He did it for the best, to save lives, always bringing dark wizards in alive if possible.

"Osiric's different though. He's brutal, and loves to use anything at his disposal to finish the job. If that includes murdering a suspect after some undue punishment, he'll happily do it. He's a dark wizard, through and through. Only difference is he's on the other side of the law."

Fletcher mulled over the information, resolving to ask around for some more information before meeting with Harry the next day. Hiding the boy from this Osiric seemed to be a different matter than simple misdirection and bad intelligence...

* * *

The sudden sound of breaking glass woke Harry from his sleep. He blinked a bit in confusion before leaping to his feet and scrambling for his wand. Finding it a few moments later, he looked around blearily, mind set on a certain Auror.

Looking through the damp, heavy room, he found no intruder. Still wary, he searched the closet and the bathroom before hearing the same sound again. Following it, he came up to a small barred window he had missed last night. The iron was rusty, blocking access to a newly broken yellow window facing bright red bricks.

A tiny owl, not unlike Pigwidgeon, was attempting to scramble through, carrying a piece of paper attached to one of its legs. Shards of glass had fallen into the room, the remnants of what appeared to be a dive. Pushing the fingers of his right hand between the bars, he unhooked the paper and helped the comical creature back out, lifting it back through the hole and setting it on the windowsill. The owl gave a short hoot of thanks before flying off in the narrow space.

Opening the letter, he found a short note, written in an ugly scrawl:

_Richard, _

_The bar in fifteen minutes. _

-_Dung_

Richard? Dung must have picked up the Boss's name for him.

Almost automatically, he brought his wand out and held it upright. Hanging the paper above its tip with the stiff fingers of his broken hand, he whispered a weak flame charm. Dropping the burning note into a dustbin, he rubbed his eyes with his forearms, yawning deeply.

He approached the cracked, dirty mirror with a slight unease, remembering his pledge to look in the mirror. Ron and Hermione had told him he had changed somewhat.

The figure looking back _looked_ like Harry Potter, indeed, everything was there and it was impossible to mistake his face. And yet, there was something strange. Hermione had been right - his nose had gotten slightly thinner, with his face a bit more angular. He had gotten taller too, it seemed, to his relief. He'd always detested being shorter than his peers...

The rest of his features looked more or less the same, except with slightly skewed proportions. It wasn't anything that couldn't be explained away with an exaggerated bout of summer growth and denial.

Remembering Ginny's reaction, he looked for any resemblance with Tom Riddle. His memory of the boy was hazy - it had been long ago, but he _could_ see a likeness. Their jaw was now set the same way, and their eyes similarly spaced. The noses looked almost identical, as did the mouth...

Harry looked away.

"What's the matter dear? You _do_ look lovely! Though I must say, a round with a few of our finest _might _just put some life into your cheeks!"

Jumping slightly, Harry suddenly remembered many of the mirrors in the Wizarding World talked. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Ignoring the blatant attempt at advertisement, he dressed quickly in his old robe, cleaning it with a flick of the wand and repairing all the various holes and cuts he had endured the previous night.

_Rip Rip Jack_.

The image of the powerful duelist flashed back to Harry's mind, bringing along with it a sense of disbelief. He'd killed the man. Though he'd killed before, none had ever been _human_. The Death Eaters were just faceless enemies to him, more weapons than true people. But Jack, for all his murderous intent, all of the insanity that embodied him, was still a person.

His apathy bothered him once more. He had felt this emotional disconnection after his battle with Dolohov, the same smooth, unfeeling coldness. Despite it all, he did feel a pleasing sense of victory. It rationalized the entire event, explaining away all the uncomfortable reservations he had.

Jack had died and he had survived. His _attacker_ had been defeated while Harry had won.

It _was_ simple, really. A part of him wondered why he couldn't just accept that and move on. It laughed at his pathetic show of weakness, prodding him to not to complicate and worry over something so _natural_.

It seemed like the truth, Harry reasoned. What was there to be sad about? He had defended his right to live. And to _live_, truly, was the greatest gift one could ever have. Losing it was simply unthinkable and had to be avoided at all costs.

Assured, slightly, he opened the door and left the shoddy room, entering the stale hallway. With business seemingly picking up during the weekend, all kinds of beings loitered around, many of them smoking curvy looking pipes with smoke of the darkest black.

What appeared to be glistening jewels winked brightly in the thick clouds, giving him the curious urge to reach in and immerse himself in it.

A deep feeling of foreboding sounding through his body, snapping him out of the strange trance. Looking back at it with the same sense of longing, he shook his head and avoided the shady looking customers waiting outside the rooms.

Various wizards scowled at him, some with deep scars, others with the musty decor of a warlock. A few paranoid looking individuals stood nervously, rubbing their unusually hairy looking hands on their thighs and breathing unevenly.

Quickening his pace, Harry descended the maze of floors to the bar, which seemed far less chaotic and much less crowded. More tables were set up, with numerous young waiters and pretty barmaids serving customers.

In the day, it seemed a more welcome place, if the term could be applied to a brothel. Clearly, the establishment's face to the public exuded a more _legal_ feel in the revealing rays of the sun.

Harry spotted Dung quickly among the many patrons, finding him biting into a large sandwich in a corner. Harry dropped into the seat in front of him, grabbing the unattended plate on the bar and trying the strange food.

Harry dropped what seemed to be a partially cooked flubberworm stuffed with cheese. Making a face, he pushed the plate back to Dung and dug into his pockets for money without success, reaching for the few sickles he had stolen earlier. He grudgingly resigned himself to no breakfast. It seemed the bellboy from the previous night had succeeded in palming Harry's money before Dung had scared him off.

Finishing with his food, Fletcher considered his hungry expression for a few moments before bringing a lovely looking young witch over, ordering a more familiar dish presumably for Harry.

"Thanks," said Harry gratefully, feeling embarrassed. No one had ever paid for him at a restaurant before. With the Dursleys, there was no restaurant. At Hogwarts, he was the richest and the most likely to pay at Hogsmeade. As a result, he hated being in debt. "I'll pay you back, you know. As soon as I get to Gringotts, that is."

Dung shook his head, cleaning his mouth with a dirty handkerchief. "You'll do no such thing. Yeh know, boy, that Dumbledore froze yer account? As soon as you even place your foot in the bank, the bloody goblins will notify the Order. Dumbledore has friends _everywhere_. His friendliness is genuine, bless 'm, but he takes no shame in calling in favors when the time comes for it. Yeh didn't think he'd just let yah run away, did you?"

Harry looked down, reddening. Clearly he hadn't thought it out all that much... The sneaky, critical voice inside his head spoke up again, berating him for his lack of forethought. He had unnecessarily gotten himself dependent - a security liability. He agreed wholeheartedly.

"What were yeh planning to do anyway? Find a house somewhere and hole yourself up from both sides and train?" Fletcher let loose a wheezy laugh, leaning back into his chair and observing Harry with amusement. "But that's exactly why I'm here. Yeh got a life debt over me... Richards, was it? I get the feeling yeh want me to help you. So here I am." Fletcher finished with an almost triumphant note, twirling his mustache in one of his short fingers.

Harry watched the man, wondering how he had taken such a positive view to his virtual enslavement. Ignoring it for later, he asked him what the Order was making of his disappearance so far.

Fletcher's grin fell slowly off his face, and he leaned forward again, looking around them cautiously. He flicked his wand upwards, presumably casting a privacy charm.

"Harry, it's not going too well, really. Shacklebolt is suspicious of me to hell, and Tonks... well, Tonks wants yer guts. You've embarrassed her a fair bit in front of both of her superiors - Shacklebolt for the Auror Core _and_ Dumbledore for the Order. I wouldn't be surprised if she's looking for ya on her own time, you know? She's mighty dangerous when serious, so you better watch who yer talking to."

Harry mulled over the information. He'd never really had issues with the young Auror, but if Fletcher was truthful, then his life was going to be filled with far more paranoia than he was used to. He briefly entertained himself with an image of himself all scarred and grouchy, a swiveling glass eye in one of his sockets and a wooden peg in place of his right leg.

Fletcher continued, an almost pitiful look on his face. "It gets worse, mind you. Dumbledore's got someone else to track you down if Tonks and Shacklebolt don't get you in two days." Harry looked up, paying careful attention. "His name is Osiric Rogers. Tonks and Shacklebolt wouldn't tell me much about him aside that he's a real nasty bloke, and Moody hates the bastard. I was loath to poke around any more than I needed to with those two. I did some digging later, and found some more info."

Dung rummaged through his cloak for a moment and withdrew a large folder Harry was sure couldn't fit in a pocket without magic. Dropping it in front of him, Dung opened it, removing a magical picture and handing to Harry.

Harry took it, turning it to the correct direction.

A tall, blond man with the physique of a hippogriff stood between four other menacing looking men, scowling at the camera. He shifted cockily, staring left and right before locking eyes with Harry and smiling dangerously. A long scar ran down his face, shaped not unlike Harry's own famous mark.

Harry stared at it impassively, quelling the slight fear inside him. "Who are the others?"

"His team. That is, the group of men that's going to hunt yeh down," Fletcher said quietly. "They work for the Ministry of Magic, part of the Hit-Wizard Core. You've probably heard of them."

Harry nodded. "They apprehended Sirius after Pettigrew ran away."

"That's them. Their primary function is, or rather, was, to act as law enforcers. Aurors weren't always the general policing force of the Wizarding World. For as long as anyone remembers, it's been the Hit-Wizards. They used to be numerous back then, doing what the Aurors do mostly now. They caught thieves, investigated disputes, and kept general law and order. They weren't all that well trained, but they were numerous, and did their job well. Certainly kept me on the run a few times." Fletcher chuckled.

"And the Aurors? How did they get to where they are now? What did they do back then?" Harry asked, confused. For as long as he'd known, Aurors had been in charge of, well, everything. He'd heard Professor Binns mention the Hit-Wizards in History of Magic, but never thought much of them.

Dung took out his pipe and dropped a bit of blue powder inside it, lighting the front with his wand. "When You-Know-Who came along, it was the first time any Dark Lord had taken part in actively training his followers in the Dark Arts. Most of the time, Dark Lords would simply have their followers make do with what they knew, or simply act as political allies. Dark Magic was limited to a handful at best. The Aurors were called in on these occasions to deal with them. They were few, but powerful, trained to defend against and defeat the very best of dark wizards."

"With Death Eaters, the word 'criminal' became almost synonymous with 'dark wizard', and so, the public demand for Aurors became insatiable. Barty Crouch Senior, a former Auror and then head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, saw the opportunity to expand and increase in importance the formerly little known Auror branch. Aurors began wearing distinctive red robes, and began recruiting en masse. The Hit-Wizards, poorly prepared against the powerful, and now common dark magic of the Death Eaters, were pushed to the side. Many transferred to the Aurors, seeing their futures fade away in the soon to be deprecated and underfunded agency. Aurors like Alastor Moody became almost household names, and _everyone_ wanted to be an Auror. To be an Auror was suddenly not just about fighting dark magic, but upholding the very principles of the Wizarding World. It was because of this that they effectively replaced the Hit-Wizard Core."

Fletcher breathed in, closing his eyes before releasing the smoke from his nostrils, making Harry slightly woozy. He continued soon after.

"These days, no one looks for a Hit-Wizard to patrol the streets or defend their homes. Every criminal is seen as a dark wizard, and the hysteria around it all only fuels the dominance of the Aurors. Why settle for Hit-Wizards when you can have an elite fighting force on the street? The Hit-Wizards, meanwhile, fell further and further into obscurity. They went from their own office space controlling the DMLE and meeting with the Minister of Magic daily to sharing a floor with the Unspeakables, virtual unknowns."

Harry thumbed the picture of Osiric. "And Rogers here?"

"He was a student of Moody. Mad-Eye, back then, was not only an Auror, but also an instructor for the Hit-Wizards. Aurors back then didn't have many assignments, so they taught. Osiric joined the Hit-Wizards early on before Voldemort really became known for revenge. I talked to some of his old classmates. They all said he was in for revenge, out for one of the earlier Death Eaters - Rosier, I think. Rosier kills his family and leaves Osiric for dead, apparently. When he enlists in the Hit-Wizard core, he's dropped in the hands of Alastor Moody, deadly dark wizard catcher, for training."

"And Mad-Eye trains him?" Harry asked, "How did they end up hating each other?"

Fletcher shrugged. "I couldn't find that out. Nobody else really knew much about Rogers - Moody took him aside, I think. Everyone else - the other instructors and Roger's friends - are all dead. I can't very well ask Moody - the man wants to throw me in Azkaban already, and I don't want him to use some obscure loophole to do so."

"I wonder if he's some sort of dark wizard," Harry said after some thought. He lifted the picture. "He certainly looks like the type."

Dung agreed. "That he does. I wouldn't be surprised myself. He brought along the rebirth of the Hit-Wizards. He managed to persuade Minister Fudge to turn the then weak Hit-Wizards to a more militaristic force in service of the Minister of Magic. They went from separate officers to six teams, each led by a team leader. Osiric heads the entire force, but also serves as the leader to HT-6, or Hit-Team Six. No one is quite sure what they do these days aside from serving as bodyguards, but I imagine it's mostly in the service of the Minister of Magic. Fudge always felt threatened by Barty Crouch's power in the Ministry, especially when he tried to run for Minister. To counter Crouch's Aurors, he diverted funding to Osiric for his own ends."

Harry sat silent through it all, grateful for the source of information he had in his hands. The Hit-Wizards would be after him, heavily armed and trained far beyond the scope of Aurors. He considered going back to Dumbledore and simply giving in. It couldn't be worth it, could it? He would be risking his safety for his freedom. He could go back to Grimmauld Place and end it all, simply give in and rest, leave others to take care of him. Dumbledore, for sure, would be inquiring into his mind, but it didn't seem reasonable for him to lock Harry away. It was that or moving frequently, constantly on the run in an endless race to stay undetected. To fare for himself in a world he knew little about, against a team of brutes dead set on hurting him and dragging him back to the Order anyway.

A flash of paranoia made him look out the window, gazing at the crowd for the crazed Hit-Wizard Dung had described.

"What are my options?" Harry asked, still watching. The questions rang through his head, begging answer, filling his mind with doubt. He hated asking Fletcher for help, but he had to know. There had to be options. He was never one to take fate lying down.

Fletcher puffed a bit more before replying. "Well, I suppose what you have to do is just stay low and keep yourself hidden. I'd tell you to go back to the Order, or even leave the country, of course, but I know you won't rest until you pay the Death Eaters a visit." He gave him a toothy grin. "Anyways, I'll give you pointers on where to go if you need them, but I can't very well accompany you constantly - I have commitments as well, and it'd look awfully suspicious if I started missing them, you know? The best I can do is meet with you and pass some information..."

Long red hair caught his attention, and Dung's voice faded away. His eyes locked to the feminine figure, watching the head turn and gaze straight at him. A pretty face smiled, her lips curving upwards in a slow, teasing motion. Harry could have sworn she winked, tilting her head to the side. After a few moments, she disappeared in the crowd, still smiling at him.

Harry became aware of his heart racing, and a concerned Dung looking at him inquisitively. "Thanks," Harry said quietly, finally looking away from the window. "But where do I start?"

Dung went through the folder again and brought out a stack of yellowed papers, filled with small notes and torn out pictures. Displayed prominently on top was a name: Augustus Rookwood.

A tall man not unlike Karkaroff stood behind bars of what he assumed was a cell in Azkaban, staring morosely at the camera. He blinked a bit before shuffling off to the corner, looking out of a small hole giving way to a glimpse of the outside world.

"That's Augustus Rookwood, Death Eater spy among the Unspeakables and magical genius. He came up with many of the curses the Death Eaters use today. Look at the next page."

Harry lifted the page and looked at a recent looking news article.

**Death Eater Kidnapped?**

_By Salman Armistice_

_Imprisoned Death Eater Augustus Rookwood apparently disappeared from his Azkaban cell Thursday night, say Ministry officials. Aurors ruled out an escape due to the sighting of several dark cloaked figures escaping with the prisoner. _

_The Minister of Magic denied this, citing it a 'freak accident' and dismissing the sightings as "...mere fantasies of overexcited Aurors." _

_DMLE head Amelia Bones disagreed rather strongly. "The Minister is a fool. My men saw what they did, and the forces behind it are no different that the partial mass breakout that occurred a few weeks ago." _

_Several other dissenters from within the ministry have echoed her comments, but were unable to contact _TheTimes.

"The Times?" Harry asked, examining the paper. It looked different from the_ Daily_ _Prophet, _with a more modern typeface and a thinner, cleaner looking paper.

"That's the new newspaper around here. Apparently one of the employees of some Muggle newspaper had a daughter selected for Hogwarts. They discovered our world, found a single real newspaper dominating the market, and opened a magical branch with some other wizards in the company to compete."

Harry remembered his Uncle reading _The Times_, as well as a fearsome, shadowy figure he recognized as Scarnen. They always had something to rant over an article or two.

"Best thing that ever happened, if you ask me," Fletcher continued. "It ain't the best reporting, but it makes the Prophet look like what it is - a corrupt tool for the Minister. And since it's backed by important Muggleborns, there's not a thing the Ministry can do to them."

Harry was glad to hear it. "At least he's no Rita Skeeter," he muttered, remembering the obnoxious woman. Hatred boiled through his veins at the thought of the conniving reporter.

"Armistice? Everyone loves Salmon Armistice! He's been exposing government corruption and erupting scandals left and right. No one knows who he is, but the whole public is clinging to his every word."

Harry peered at the article again. "And what's this about a breakout at Azkaban?"

Fletcher's face became grim. "You-Know-Who stormed the place a few weeks ago, Harry. He broke through the impenetrable and took many of his old servants back. Malfoy, Avery, Goyle, both Rabston and Rodolphus Lestrange, Macnair, Mulciber, and Nott. He also took with him countless murderers, thieves, and other convicts. Snape tells us he hasn't marked them and isn't planning to. The whole Order's puzzled as to what he wants to do with them. But that isn't why I gave you the article. Snape's also told us that Rookwood's been kept captive by the Dark Lord for something."

"He betrayed Voldemort? How?"

Dung shrugged. "Snape doesn't know."

Harry pondered the situation with concern. There wasn't much he could do in that matter until he had some answers. "You said Rookwood was where I was going to start. How do I do that?"

Fletcher grinned, going through his pockets again before producing a tarnished set of silver skeleton keys. They glowed slightly, sparkling with magic.

"His manor."

* * *

Harry and Fletcher appeared in an unkempt looking field, disrupting the silence with a sharp pop. The air was warm and humid, almost unbearably so, with a faint, flowery smell. Beneath them seemed to be a luscious garden that had been abandoned long ago, giving way to weeds that had overtaken what little was left of what Harry assumed was a beautiful plot.

He removed his arm from Fletcher, looking annoyed with his heavy dependence on the man. "There's got to be a way I can apparate without being found. It's bloody useful."

Dung shook his head with a wistful look. "Trust me, lad, if there was a way, I'd know of it. Too many things to destroy and people to kill." Looking at Harry, he continued, "Well, there _are_ ways, to be sure, but they're not pretty, if you catch my drift. You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters have been doing it for years, but yah know, but I'm afraid they won't be much help to yeh!"

He clapped the younger wizard on the back and moved in front of Harry before stopping. Humming slightly, he pushed his head forward, squinting as if trying to make out something in the distance. With a quick nod to himself, he walked on, moving uneasily. He disappeared completely in a couple of steps.

Harry watched him vanish with surprise. As he moved to follow him, uncertainty hit him like a wall, and all the doubts he had in the back of his mind reemerged. He suddenly the greatest urge to go back to Grimmauld Place, back to Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, and the rest of the Order. He thought of how he could get Madam Pomfrey to heal his hand, take away the stinging pain. The feeling grew, becoming almost nauseatingly powerful.

"Oye! Shake it off, Potter! It's just a Repulsion ward!"

The voice dug through the charm, bringing Harry back to reality. He shook off the spell with some difficulty and looked for Fletcher. The thoughts of retreat hadn't completely disappeared.

"Look harder," the man said impatiently. Harry imagined him bearing a smug look. It was rather embarrassing that he had almost succumbed to a weak compulsion charm when he had resisted the Imperius Curse.

He tried squinting, focusing all his will into breaking through the attention diverting ward. Slowly, the air seemed to shimmer, and an outline of a large building appeared. Colors sunk into the lines, and the image sharpened to form what he assumed was Rookwood Manor.

Harry suspicions of Dung's smugness were confirmed - Fletcher stood, a grin on his face. "Looks like yeh're not Merlin, eh? Seems like ole' Mundugnus can do something the great Harry Potter can't!"

Harry pushed him toward the door of the ancient house, with his good hand, ignoring the jeer. "Just open the door, Dung."

Fletcher chuckled, bringing out the sparkling key chain before testing the various keys.

As Dung fiddled with the door, Harry took a step back and studied the looming structure in front of him. The manor would have been impressive had it been properly maintained. Stretching three floors, it was comprised entirely of brick and stone, with large, sweeping windows and impressive columns. Dirt, however, marred the exterior, and the various surfaces had lost their luster. The faded door was massive, looming several heads over Harry. It too hadn't escaped the ravages of time and negligence - several dents filled with splinters showed evidence of attempted break-ins. Dung made a sound of triumph a moment later, turning the key and opening the door. Withdrawing the key chain back into his pocket, he gestured Harry in and closed the door behind them.

The interior of the manor was extremely dark, with only a few cracks of light entering between the heavy curtains. Harry made to open the closest one, but was stopped by Fletcher.

"Don't. It's charmed with compulsion and probably rigged with some curse. It's better to avoid touching anything you don't need to." Muttering an incantation under his breath, he flicked his wand. A small, faint orb of light appeared from its tip, and made its way above his head. The sphere illuminated Dung's grinning face.

"Useful, eh? Leaves yer wand free, important for yeh especially when you can only use one hand. Lupin ought to have shown yah when he was teachin'. The man never did think what I was going to use it for when he taught me," he said with a barking laugh.

Harry did faintly remember, and achieved a brighter result after a few tries. He basked in the look of jealousy that was shot his way.

The two explored the house, removing the excess dust to look for anything substantial. The rooms were surprisingly spartan, devoid of anything but the barest necessities. Stiff looking chairs dominated what Harry assumed to be the living room. An ancient looking Wizarding Radio sat on the ground, next to a small pack of cards.

As Harry approached it, the small box jumped on its side, emptying its cargo. The cards shuffled themselves quickly and sat themselves on the now inanimate package.

Dung walked over, cigar in hand. "A self-shuffling pack of cards. Been looking for one of these..." he said to himself. Casting a detection charms on it, he winked at Harry and pocketed it.

Shaking his head, Harry continued. "Why aren't there any expensive furnishings? I expected to see lavish furniture, expensive paintings, and coats of armor," he said.

Fletcher blew out smoke, dropping ashes on the floor and stepping on them. "You see, Rookwood was, as yeh've probably guessed, from an old, wealthy pureblooded family. His father, Ceaser Rookwood, helped finance Lord Grindelwald's foothold in Britain, hoping for a generous return when the Dark Lord conquered us. When Grindelwald fell, he lost a great deal of money. The family had already been in decline for several generations, so they had gambled much of their wealth. Rookwood's mother committed suicide, leaving his father and him.

"Desperate, they probably sold all their heirlooms and valuable belongings, all in an effort to keep the manor. Without a manor, even now, yeh're not much of an influential pureblood. All the famous purebloods now 'ave manors just like this, most of 'em bigger. They kept the secret for very long, and from the outside, no one would ever guess. It's brilliant, in a deprived, strange way."

The inner society of the Wizarding Purebloods fascinated Harry, though he was loath to admit it. His hatred for the Malfoys hadn't really carried to all Purebloods, though he wasn't especially fond of them, either. He often wondered what his father, a Pureblood of high birth, would have been like.

Judging from what he had seen from Snape's memories, he expected it wasn't anything especially pleasing. James Potter wasn't any better than Draco Malfoy in many respects. If his father's attitude was any indication, Harry would have been groomed to be what he hated most. He imagined himself an heir to a living, breathing dynasty of Potters. It _was_ appealing, certainly, in a way he recognized as self-serving, ambitious, and conceited. No, James Potter, though missed, was certainly the angel Harry had imagined him to be.

Lily Potter was truly the only person he wished still alive. Harry felt a corresponding part of him hum in agreement, rebelling against the idea of _father_, rejecting it with contempt he sympathized with.

Shaking the thought, Harry moved on.

"The manor should have somewhere set apart for Rookwood's work," Dung said suddenly. "The informants I found told me he put his studies above everything."

Fletcher made his way to a thick looking door. Grabbing his keys, he started fitting each into the various locks. "Most illegal magic is performed underground - it's harder to detect. I'll wager he did all his work in the dungeons."

Harry waited patiently, watching the thief look for a compatible match.

"So he was a researcher above everything else," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why Voldemort - " Dung cringed, dropping the keys, " - is punishing him. Maybe he put his work above his duties to his master."

Fletcher stooped over, picking up the chain. Getting up, he stopped, thinking. "Yes, I suppose yer right. It's possible he joined Voldemort just to be funded. You know those crazy intellectual types," he said, making a winding motion with his finger next to his head.

Harry's mind drifted to Hermione, and he smiled at the thought. "Yeah. Not always the most gifted in everyday stuff sometimes."

Dung pulled the door open and looked back at Harry, grinning. "You thinking of that girl, what's her name... Hermione, I think." Leaning over, he moved his cigar to the side of his lips, holding it with his teeth. "You give her the time of day yet, tough guy? She's a pretty one!"

Harry reddened slightly, before turning angry. "No, she's a friend. I think she's more interested in Ron, anyways." Harry thought that was the mildest way he could put it. He was more of a third wheel at best.

Dung gave off a hacking cough, before falling into a fit of laughter. "That moron? Molly's son? Forget 'im, Potter. Yeh can't have too much honor in life. Sometimes, yeh just have to let go and do what yeh need too." Puffing, he let loose a large smile. "I'm gonna enjoy corrupting you, boy. I'm gonna take you to a real, classy brothel one day."

Harry merely shrugged, and followed a chuckling Fletcher into the dungeons, into the inky darkness.

The smell of mildew reached Harry's nostrils. The scent was all too familiar to him, a long time friend in the small cupboard under the stairs, as well as a companion to a younger Tom, punished and locked in the damp basement beneath the cold, unforgiving orphanage.

The orbs of light above them cast a bright glow around them, illuminating a large underground area that looked disturbing similar to the place where he had seen Tom Riddle kill his first victim in the name of Lord Grindelwald. The image of the beautiful Veela flashed through his mind, bringing along with it a foreign sense of guilt, with an accompanying feeling of triumph and accomplishment.

Harry closed his eyes against the rush of dizzying memories, willing himself to ignore it all and follow Fletcher down the loud, brittle stairs. As they reach the bottom, Harry turned around with Dung, surveying their new surroundings.

Various glass containers lined most of the walls, many containing strange looking creatures and body parts. An eye stared at them continuously from along a large tank on the top, before slithering away toward a brain Harry recognized from the Department of Mysteries. A frog with seven legs floated limply in another with a fish the shape of a human hand attempting to devour it in a neighboring bottle.

Dung stared open mouthed at some of the specimens, tapping against some, and hiding away others within his coat. He tripped on something as he did so, gazing downwards before scrambling back up in horror. A large lizard with the torso of a human baby lay dead in the middle of the floor, decomposing. The remains of a barred cell lay torn nearby the foul creature's corpse.

The two wizards moved closer to each other and walked quickly to the other side of the room, where more common materials were stored. Glowing potions and frothing liquids sat on a large table, with rocks of all kinds lying in dishes across a smaller bench. Iron cauldrons were everywhere, each with complete inscriptions.

The entire area seemed to have come straight from a Muggle laboratory, if one were to ignore the obviously magical artifacts. A small Pensieve sat in the corner, empty. Along side of it sat rows and rows of crystal containers, each containing silvery memories. Picking one up, he read the description:

_Curse Development: Cultavio. _

Putting it back, he read another:

_Time Loop Investigation: Mockingbird in a Bell Jar._

Harry remembered that one from the Department of Mysteries. Rookwood appeared to have pioneered on a myriad of magical subjects. The memories he had stored here were all chronicling his discoveries. He searched further, hoping to find something relevant to his location or the Death Eaters.

"Potter! Look here!" Dung's voice rang out from nearby, echoing within the cavernous room. The man was crouching near a wall, eying something between a gap in the containers lining the wall.

Harry made his way to his companion, looking at the direction he was staring. "What?"

Dung stepped back, pointing. "There! See this empty space in the wall here? There's a key in there!"

Harry stuck his head between the large vials, but didn't see anything unusual in front of him. The wall appeared smooth to his eyes. "All I see is grey stone, Fletcher. Maybe it's a Notice-Me-Not charm again?"

Fletcher shook his head vigorously. "I can feel those. I've been forcing my way through them for years. Maybe it's hidden to certain people. Those are pretty common in security charms."

Harry ran his hand against the wall, rapping his knuckles against where Dung claimed the space was. He turned back to him. "Well, I guess I'm not supposed to see whatever is hidden there. Try getting it."

Fletcher reached into the space while trying to keep his face away from the fearsome looking objects around it, his arm seemed to disappear into the wall before Harry's eyes. He pulled it out a moment later with a small package in hand.

Dung inspected it for a second, eying Harry. Looking back at the package, he tossed it to Harry, who instinctively caught it with his right hand. The plain wrapped brown object shone with magic as it touched his palm, and burned with an angry red light.

Harry hissed in pain and dropped it into Fletcher's awaiting grasp.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry gasped, shaking his good hand. It seemed as if fire had set the very skin of his hand ablaze. "I've only got one left, you know!"

Dung ignored his complaint, casting a few charms on the object all without result. "Rookwood really must not have wanted it to land in yer hands. Or people like yah, of course. Since we're on the same side, it must not be allegiance to the Order. We're hardly innocent, me stealin' and you, well, killin' left and right..." Harry grimaced, remembering his actions.

"I can't open it up right now. It's got a fair bit of powerful charms I can't remove. I'll try later, I know a few blokes who could break it for us."

Harry nodded. "Alright. I think I'll look upstairs again. We might have missed something. You stay here and look for anything else you can find."

Dung gave a mock salute and moved back toward the workshop Rookwood had set up.

Harry quickly ran up the stairs, eager to be out of the oppressive, damp basement. Its uncanny similarity to the area of Riddle's ritual murder was unsettling as well.

He looked halfheartedly around in the dim light for some time, ascending to the upper floors. No light was present here at all - most of the curtains had been sealed tightly, with no cracks to allow sunlight.

Harry recast his fading lighting charm and wandered through the hallway. Several bedrooms existed on the topmost floor, each extravagantly large. Most were furnished with only the bare minimum.

He went through each, finding nothing of interest, upturning various memorabilia.

He continued into the hallway, looking into the forgotten rooms. One smaller doorway caught his eye. Pressing the door open, he ventured inside, finding a stockpile of items covered with cobwebs and dust. The air was hard to breathe and heavy with the smell of decay. It bore down on his person, laden with a certain darkness that attracted Harry all the same.

Harry's eyes scanned the objects, looking for anything of value. There were old dressers, dilapidated chairs, and other wooden objects. All of them reeked with a sense of forbidden history, eliciting a few dark memories he quickly dismissed. He had to focus on the present.

A small, elaborate bedside table in the corner caught his attention. Smooth black wood was decorated with gold markings while brass snakes wound slowly around its narrow legs. On its surface sat a stack of frames, all with ancient looking pictures within them. A photograph of a brown haired youth, a vicious looking man posing with a gentle looking woman, a sickly father at his deathbed giving in to death. Harry cleaned them with a flick of his wand. Curious, he perused through them all, hoping he'd stumble onto something important.

The last photograph, black and white, depicted a grand looking wizard, who Harry identified immediately as Lord Grindelwald, standing next to Rookwood's father. The elder Rookwood was bowing, a gift in hand.

The Dark Lord took the item, grinning. Harry saw the shadowy hint of madness in the man's eyes. He closed his gloved hand briefly, muttering something as a pulse of the darkest black leaked through his fingers. A moment later, Grindelwald opened his fist and brought his hand toward the camera, tilting his head and showing blackened teeth. Over his flattened palm floated a spinning gear, a smaller replica of the one he had handled the day before.

In the background, a withered plant straightened, slowly becoming full and supple. Jagged leaves sprouted, and an ugly flower bloomed. Harry watched the sequence occur over and over again, mesmerized as the spinning gear twirled endlessly.

"It's rude to break into the houses of others, you know."

Harry dropped the photograph and spun around, wand in hand.

The red haired young woman sat in front of him, sprawled on one of the many chairs. Her posture was relaxed, a delicate right hand supporting her smallish chin. Her warm smile contrasted deeply with the flicked shadows behind her.

"But don't worry, Harry, I won't tell."

* * *

Please Review!

Amerision


	8. Bargains of the Uncanny Sort

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

I don't own Harry Potter.

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**A/N:** Kudos to whoever catches the reference to a certain short story.

**--**

**Chapter Eight: **Bargains of the Uncanny Sort

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_Some say religion is the opiate of the masses. Others say it's tabloids and the lives of silly entertainers. But really, the effect is all the same. You get people to ignore reality. The best part of it all is the fact that the endeavor becomes easier when there's more to hide… like the crumbling of the government, the destruction of society, or something equally as devastating. _

**--**

"Lucius."

The sound of the thundering ocean crashing against the harsh rocks outside had long since drowned out any coherent thought. The deprivation of external stimuli along with the withdrawal Dementors forced on Azkaban's prisoners had made the elder Malfoy slow to respond, timid and confused.

He was dressed in standard Azkaban garb, a rough robe made of coarse wool; It was uncomfortable and ill-fitting, yet needed in the harsh cold of the island, enough to satisfy the benevolence the Wizarding World bestowed upon its patients – the new term afforded to the mentally tortured by the political correctness sweeping the Ministry.

The prison had never been as physically demanding as it was often described. The floors were a dull grey, slightly moist but undeniably clean. The cells, though spartan, each held a small bed charmed to stay clean along with a small toilet. The food that appeared silently throughout the day was fine as well, just enough to sustain and always the same.

What the prisoners of Azkaban were given in material comforts, however, they would desperately trade away for a relief from the horrors that truly constituted the island. Anywhere the eye could see was masked in the insidious shade of purified, smooth granite. A small window to the outside world was masked in a thick fog that never seemed to change. Nothing except fellow inmates ever moved, and with time, even that would become a rarity.

There was nothing to discern the change of days, the passage of time, anything to give meaning or justification to existence beyond the confines of the mind, which itself would rapidly fall apart in the forced isolation from meaning. Every day was exactly the same with few exceptions.

When most of the Dementors left Azkaban, the true nature of the prison surfaced, the true horror of the prison had presented itself. Some had thought the horrors had gone away with the foul beings, but inmates went mad just as quick as before, mostly quicker. Where the hellish creatures of times past had given _something_ to hang onto, the bare, dead walls and the ever restless ocean did not.

"Wake up, Lucius..."

So it was with great effort and incredulity that Lucius Malfoy focused his eyes on the newcomers, his mind, lost in the sea of nothingness, surfacing into consciousness. It seemed as if he was pulling himself into existence, slowly ascending through the dull cloud that had long since swallowed his thoughts.

As he became aware, his recovering faculties quickly reminded him that _no one_ ever visited Azkaban's patients. Lucius could barely remember what speaking, moving people looked like. His dimmed memories, the first victim of nothingness, blossomed with the mere occurrence of _change. _He pushed himself away from the bars that isolated him from freedom, blinking his eyes as he resolved the tall visage of Lord Voldemort.

"Ah, there you are. I see you still remember me, Lucius. That's very good, very impressive considering the state of your fellow inmates. I must apologize profusely for neglecting to free you like I did the others several days ago, but I assure you I am here to end this."

Voldemort's voice rang throughout the silent corridor, a deafening source of power to sensitive ears long weaned to the dulling sound of crashing waves. His attention became riveted – the very ability to speak to another made him feel free.

He tried to thank his Lord, but all that came out was a dry croak. Voldemort smiled indulgently and knelt down. He procured his wand in one hand and reached out to him gingerly, grabbing his arm with the other.

"Come, Lucius." With unnatural strength he pulled him until Lucius was pressed against the freezing bars. Lucius' pathetic sound of surprise went unnoticed as Voldemort pulled away his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark in his skin, burning as fresh as the day he had turned his back on his family and become a slave.

"A slave to something great," Voldemort chided, his terrifying dark eyes shining with malice. Lucius shuddered as another memory resurfaced, reminding him that even his mind was not his own. He had traded it all away when the Dark Lord had given him what he had kept safe for so long, what gave him powers and skills above all but the greatest of wizards.

"Yes, and how safe you have kept it. Ironic is it not? That it remains secure in here of all places." He pressed his thumb deep into the burnt flesh, eliciting a hoarse scream from Lucius. "Unfortunately, I need it back. I thank you for your service, but it remains useless in your hands. You are spent, worn and tired in both magic and creativity." Wretchedness, like he had never felt before, filled him, and each word seemed to grind him to the ground. In his shame he noticed another figure behind the dark wizard. He was bathed in the shadows of his lord, unnerving, cold eyes appraising his filthy state without emotion.

"I need strength, a fresh mind and an unsullied name. You have none of these." Eyes glowing, his fingers tore into his skin, encircling the Dark Mark. A different manner of pain filled his being, one of claws tearing into his soul. He felt his magic flare as something left his essence. With a hideous squelch, Voldemort removed his hand, something black and ugly floating above his palm. It attached itself to his wandtip, where it changed into a flaring dark light.

Lucius stared at his arm, seeing his mark faded and different. It seemed less imposing, utterly without magic or purpose – like the marks of those outside the Inner Circle. Feeling somewhat lighter, he looked up to see Lord Voldemort standing over the other wizard, who was kneeling with his arm out. The wizard went rigid, visibly containing a sound of pain as the flaring black light poured from Voldemort's wandtip to his skin, creating a shining Dark Mark that seethed with power.

"Our bargain is complete, Lucius." Voldemort said, turning to leave. His voice seemed to be coming from afar, and his figure difficult to make out in the darkness that threatened to overtake his vision.

"Wait!" He pressed himself to bars, reaching out to his Lord, mortal fear echoing within him. "My lord! Free me!"

Voldemort stopped and turned, his skeletal face betraying his amusement. "I have already done so, Lucius. Use your remaining intellect – what is the punishment for removing the mark?"

Lucius struggled to think, his mind plunging into yet another dark mist. He felt himself fall to the floor, his mouth falling open as his body refused his orders.

"And the only way out of a life sentence in Azkaban?"

He never answered.

--

Harry's wand was warm in his hand, begging to be used as it remained trained on the figure before him.

The red haired woman didn't seem to mind the threatening gesture, keeping her dark eyes on his. She seemed to find something agreeable, and made a humming noise deep in her throat.

"What do you want?" Harry asked quietly. He considered conjuring rope to tie her to the seat, but didn't want to risk a duel if she was a witch. The broken fingers of his left hand throbbed in agreement, and he pushed them deeper into his cloak.

She rose to her feet carefully and moved towards him, ignoring his wand. Harry took a step back before deciding to stand his ground. He was the one with the wand.

"An agreement. A bargain for you." She said, looking above his eyes. She lifted one of her hands and touched a cut on his temple from the night before. With a gentle stroke it sealed, leaving nothing but a pleasant tingling in his skin.

Harry twisted his head away from her hand. He couldn't afford to be distracted. "Stop it. What's your name?"

The rejection brought her eyes back to his. "Alice."

Harry took the opportunity to study her up close. Her hair was much darker than the Weasleys, and she had skin that seemed almost luminescent. She didn't look much older than him, perhaps several years at best. Her dress, blood red, was elegant, but short and tight enough to draw more of Harry's attention that he was comfortable giving.

She reached for his other arm, the one that he had gingerly hid in his pocket. Harry hissed as the movement shook his broken, swollen fingers, awakening the terrible throbbing he had only recently been able to ignore. He tried to shake her off, but it only hurt more to do so.

Her fingers – cool and soothing – enveloped his own, grasping tightly. The very touch of it removed the pain, and he could feel his bones fusing together, becoming whole quicker and more gently than any potion from Madame Pomphrey.

He looked up, meeting her eyes once again. For the first time he noticed that they were shallow and soulless. Inhuman.

"What are you, Alice?" He said, taking his healed hand away and flexing the fingers before straightening his wand, pressing it against her. She was unnaturally still, and Harry noticed she breathed only to speak.

"In between. I can be yours, if you should wish it."

"What do you mean mine?" He spat with frustration. "I can't own another human being – if that's what you even are. I saw you with Jack. Are you his wife?"

"Jack was killed." She said simply, brushing her hair away from her eyes. There was no conceit, only blunt truth in her expression.

"I know." He snapped, a growing sense of revulsion fueling his anger. "I… I did it. Were you his wife? Family? Both?"

"Somewhat. And you killed him – and that of me which was his. Our agreement ended." Something like muted pain flashed through her face before it disappeared, replaced again by her unnerving alien demeanor.

"What are you talking about? What was his? What are _you_?" Harry growled out.

She dropped her eyes and ran her fingers up his arms. Harry tried to move away, and reached to pull them off before he stilled, feeling something inside him stir, unfurling under her touch. He felt his magic welling up inside him, dancing just beneath his skin. He watched her work for a moment before stepping away. The feeling faded.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking at her warily. He hadn't ever experienced something so _odd_. But it couldn't mean good. "If you're his wife, then I'm sorry, but he was trying to kill me."

She didn't answer. The rising mounds of her chest heaved noticeably beneath her dress, and she reached for him once more. Something told him to take her hand off, but he couldn't – didn't want to – listen. He let her hands roam, the contact bringing that strange, _pleasant _feeling along with it. As she grew close, Harry felt the tingling sensation inside him grow, flourishing and bringing power roaring to his senses.

"I understand, Harry. That's the way, and it's behind me now. Behind _us_." She said distractedly, and stepped even closer, the palms of her hands against his chest, looking up to his eyes.

He tried not to let her affect him, but it was difficult, and he found himself unable to look away from the shining orbs that held him still. The feeling was incredible, magic swirling under her touch and growing inside him, buzzing pleasantly. He could scarcely contain the need to release it.

"You're not a prize to be won in any case." He finally spoke, breathing heavily against her.

Her lips brushed against his cheek, and every touch seemed to melt away the world around him. Magic, pure and heavy, filled his thoughts, coursing through his blood. He felt as if he would simply explode with energy.

Harry dimly realized he was now clutching Alice, his arms tightly wound around her body. She had pressed herself against him, clinging to him tightly. Her body had grown hot, her curves simply meeting his body perfectly.

"Aren't I? Is this not a prize to be desired?" She whispered to his ears, and he noticed her trembling, the way she arched her back with every pulse of his magic, her skin flushed and damp.

With incredible difficulty he pulled away from her, stumbling back. He felt like a predator, animal lust filling his hot veins. His magic thrummed at his every movement, awaiting his command to lay waste to anyone who would come between them.

"What was that?" Harry managed, watching her carefully. His body ached for more, and he barely gathered the will to stop himself from grabbing her, to hold him against him once more, to take her as his body wanted.

"Power." Her husky voice contained something like hunger, her eyes shining. She seemed alive for the first time, feral and strong, glowing with life. "Your boundless power. It blossoms under my touch, gives me life. You are my strongest."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he backed away carefully. "You feed on it."

Her head lowered, and she watched him with a careful reverence. "Nothing a wizard of your strength would notice. It replenishes faster than I could ever take from you." Alice breathed. A sense of otherworldly energy filled the room, and Harry saw a brief flicker of someone else before him – long, colorless hair on an ageless, feminine face, skin a shifting, milky white. The image was replaced again with her red haired appearance almost instantly.

"Succubus." He hissed out, and Alice laughed, sending a cold shiver down his spine. Harry released his magic into a vicious curse. The ugly brown streak raced across the short space to her, considerably faster and more powerful than he had anticipated. It impacted her harmlessly, dissipating into the air. He couldn't hurt her. Harry didn't think he even wanted to.

"Not quite." She said, looking amused by the attack. She swiped a delicate finger along the dress, where the powerful magic struck her, and breathed its scent, shuddering with pleasure. "… But close. I am a Symbiote."

"What makes you any less dangerous? You feed on wizards as if they are cattle." Harry ground out, his teeth on edge. Fear pulsed through him, but somewhere inside he wished desperately for her to prove him wrong. Succubi were irresistible, gratifying, and satisfying beyond any mortal dream, but they came at the cost of life.

Alice stepped up to him once more, looking up at his face. She licked her blood red lips. "I can heighten your powers to make you more powerful than all your foes. I can bring you back from the brink of death. I can give you companionship when every acquaintance turns his back on your wretched soul." She paused, searching his eyes. "All I ask is for your protection, and the mortal spark of life afforded to me by your life and magic. Make me yours and I will grant you all this and more in return."

He watched her, taking it in. The words were enchanting, and in his weary thoughts they were almost impossible to resist. But his caution returned. He wasn't a fool. There had to be some sort of price for sharing his life and magic with another.

"Do you accept?" Her voice washed pleasantly over Harry, promising him endless pleasure, victory, and power. Harry had to fight to keep himself to from giving in. He pushed her away.

"No." The effort to say it brought despair to his very blood, and though he knew it was the right thing, it cost him dearly to say it. Something like misery filled her demeanor.

"I expected as much." She said quietly, and all the life seemed to drain out of her. The surge of humanity that had come with his magic disappeared, her cold, pale appearance returning. "You will accept, Harry Potter. If not today, then some other day. You will call upon me in your darkest night, and I will be there, ready to assist should you agree to my offer."

"Until then." Harry replied, stepping towards the door. "But for now I prefer to remain free."

"I don't want your soul, Harry. Nor do I want to rob you of magic. Merely your shadow to stand in, your side to keep company, or your heart to make happy." Alice said sadly, watching him leave.

He didn't have an answer.

--

"Did you find anything, Harry?" Dung grunted, flicking a massive cigar to the bare wooden floor. He had the parcel they had found before in his hand.

"Just an interesting picture." Harry answered, hoping Dung hadn't overheard him speaking to the Symbiote. He removed the picture of the Dark Lord Grindelwald and the spinning gear that the dark wizard had received as a gift. He showed it to Dung, who looked at it closely.

"A Seid Gear, that is," he remarked, "Hard to come by. And that's – "

"Lord Grindelwald. I know. What do these gears do?"

"They do all sorts of things, yeh see. Each one does something different. They're hundreds of them, some of cursed, others wit' helpful charms that yeh can't do with a wand. People have been looking for these for ages, really." He leaned closer to the picture, watching the gear. He frowned when the withered plant in the background returned to life, blossoming its black flower. "Most of them be smaller than yer finger, though. Never seen one that big before. Or one that can bring dead things to life. That's dark stuff if I've ever seen it."

He thought of the Gear that the Boss had taken from him. The Death Eater he had incapacitated earlier was giving the Boss a small Gear as payment in order to place the strange booths he had seen in his club. He remembered the young witch entering the tall glass structure, her skin flushed as she moaned, a spidery white light escaping her body.

"What are those booths, Dung?" He asked slowly, watching the man carefully. Harry remembered the longing on his face when they passed the booths.

Fletcher shuffled, looking a bit embarrassed. "It's… well, there's no good way to put this. It's all yer dreams come true, really. They're called the Euphio Booths. Yeh go in, and yeh can experience yer heart's desires. Anything yeh want, anything yeh need to feel. It can do it. Some people choose a night with a beautiful women, others the role of some all powerful Auror or famous celebrity. They're sort of expensive, but more than worth… well, it's probably not good for yeh, but you can't stop going."

"I can see it being pretty dangerous." All your dreams come true. It sounded like a perfect alternative to reality. A perfect place to go to ignore the crumbling world outside your doorstep. Of course, he didn't think he would mind living out of a few of his greatest dreams, either. He thought of Erised.

"It is, Harry. And that's the whole fuss about it. I know people who've gone broke, turned to evil things – all just to get more. Clever thing, putting in a club like that. It shouldn't be legal, but anyone who's gone into it won't have the heart to ban 'em. It's only a matter of time 'till they're everywhere."

He thought of the dark cloaked figures at the controls. "There were Death Eaters operating them. It's not exactly hard to see them. How can people trust these things when they see Death Eaters?"

Fletcher gave a wistful sigh. "It don't matter who's at the controls. Once yer in, none of this – ", and he waved his hands in a frustrated manner, " – matters. You make your own world. It's all just peace, safety, comfort, and pleasure beyond any damn drug. If there's an opposite to the Cruciatus, Harry, it's a Euphio Booth."

Why was Voldemort interested in spreading what amounted to a pleasure booth? It seemed hardly relevant when Harry thought of the Dark Lord's usual goals. He put the information away for later. Perhaps the parcel he and Fletcher had found would lead them somewhere.

"Say… What happened to your hand?" Fletcher eyes were on his whole and healthy left hand. Harry balled it into a fist and released it, looking over it thoughtfully.

"A bit of magic."

Fletcher nodded skeptically. "Like the one that saw you through a duel with Dolohov?"

"What are you getting at, Dung?" Harry asked quietly. He found himself grasping his wand in his pocket. Fletcher noticed, backing away with a grimace.

"Nothin', Harry. It ain't nothin'." He looked around him once more before stepping toward the front door. "Let's get out of here. You don't want to stay in one place too long."

Harry followed, grasping the door handle as he left the dark of the manor. He paused for a moment and shot a look at the staircase behind him. He ignored the red haired woman sitting patiently at the top of the steps and shut the door, stepping out into the sunlight.

--

"You've got maybe until nightfall. The hellhounds are out then, Harry."

They were back in the dingy pub, eating a mixture of lunch and dinner. Harry watched the various wizards and witches that headed up to the brothel above the pub. He recognized a few from Platform 9 and 3/4th, fathers and mothers of various students at Hogwarts. Yet several more he knew intimately well, others he had never met, but still familiar with their name, their families, and how many they had lost to _his_ Death Eaters. He shook himself out of that line of thought.

"I'm not going back, Dung. I've got the… means, the power to do something. I can't go back. Not after what I did. It'll never be the same."

Fletcher nodded. "I can understand that, but yeh got to think of what might happen to ya out here. I know you got weight to throw around, and hell, you're more of a wizard than half that doddering Order. But you have to understand that dueling ability ain't everything. And even with that – you barely survived Dolohov. What are you going to do against two, three Death Eaters? You-Know-Who himself? You barely know your way around London!"

"Don't worry about that." Harry dismissed, resting his head on one arm. He watched his wand as it twirled around his hand. He brought it up and tapped his head with it. "I got all I need right here."

"Do you?" Fletcher scoffed. "Listen – I can't pretend to know what yeh 'ave going on in that mind of yers. You're different. You look different. You act different. Maybe yeh know what to do. But know this – you're not going to win this. Not the way you're going. You are going to find yourself dead or worse, and the world is going to follow."

"I don't care about the world. This is about me and Voldemort. His Death Eaters are just steps on the way to him. And I'll kill them all."

Fletcher deflated at his voice. "Well. If that's how it is…"

"It is. I want that thing we found open by tonight. In the meantime we need to find out more on what Voldemort and all his other Death Eaters are doing overseas." He procured a copy of the Wizarding version of _The Times_.

The headline was brazenly printed in red, the picture beneath it showing the rendition of a smoldering city.

_**Wizarding Terrorists Promise the End of Muggle Civilization**_

_By Salmon Armistice_

_Death Eaters have been spotted around several major Wizarding governmental buildings, leaving gruesome murders in their wake and leaving messages promising to end Muggle civilization if several key demands are not met. _

_The terrorists are headed by the infamous dark wizard Lord Voldemort – long thought permanently vanquished by Harry Potter – and have appeared in Greater Wizarding Britain, the Federation of Prussian States, the American Union, Persia, Dubai and several other Middle Eastern territories, Hong Kong, and the Japanese Empire. Leaders of all affected countries have issued a statement promising further investigation, and have denied notifying their muggle counterparts as of yet. _

_The Death Eaters have demanded the seizure of all muggle-wizarding relations in financial and political matters, and the resignation of all current Wizarding executives, including Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, Chancellor Frederick Benz, President Richard Jackson, Shah Pahlavi, Sheik Muhammad Zayed, Supreme Leader Mao Tzefucius, and Emperor Mito Matsushita among others. _

_There is no word on what course of actions the listed leaders plan to take, but it is doubtful they will bow to these demands. All Wizarding law enforcement agencies are on high alert, and consider the matter extremely sensitive…_

"How do they plan to keep their word? That's the question." Harry asked, folding the paper up again.

Fletcher drummed his fingers against the table, taking a deep breath through the cigar he had lit while reading. "They're too many ways to count. With magic you can do pretty much anything to those poor blokes and they won't even believe what's happening."

Harry clenched his teeth in anger. "And they've left us two options – the destabilization of the Wizarding world, or the end of the Muggle world. You can see how people might react to that."

Fletcher whistled in amazement, dropping his cigar to the ground and grinding it with his shoe. "Aye. Me or them, and it plays on their prejudices too. Force them to deem Muggles as lesser things if they want to live…"

"The mere act of refusing to negotiate with the Death Eaters sends that message. So what can we do?"

"Pay them a visit, I reckon. Let's start at home. Rookwood's unaccounted for. Malfoy was left behind in Azkaban. Greyback is out of the country, so is Jugson, Dolohov, and Mulciber - all the Azkaban escapees from the most recent breakout have gone overseas, which leaves Bellatrix, Avery's father, Nott, and Rebastian Lestrange."

"It's not Bellatrix. She's too far gone for delicate stuff like that." Harry said quietly, idly drawing something in the dusty tabletop with his finger. Something like pity filled him at that. He didn't want to know why. Fletcher looked at him oddly before continuing.

"Well, Avery Senior hasn't been around in the limelight for years. He was before my time, but I know his last run in with the Aurors left him weak and frail. He's in no condition to threaten the Ministry of Magic. Nott's the same thing – he's quiet and sneaky. Used to be the prefect in my house. Right bastard, but he wouldn't dare draw a wand in broad daylight. That leaves Lestrange. He's only slightly insane, which is the most dangerous type yeh can have."

"Rebastian's the torture happy type, more like Bellatrix than his brother. The article says people are turning up grossly disfigured and dying of heart seizure in the telephone booth and floo entrances. They all have the same note nailed to their forehead. Thirteen in all. It fits, but I doubt he's the only one. He probably has a few other guys around to help abduct the victims. He always hated doing menial things like kidnapping. Just likes the fun."

"Well, yeh seem to know them better than I do. So we've got a couple lackey wizards and an Inner Circle Death Eater running around London. If they're getting the bodies through the phone booth, they got to be close to the Ministry itself. They could do this from somewhere far, but if they're leaving messages they probably want to hang around and catch the reactions, maybe threaten a few higher ups or even kill them."

Fletcher nodded, finishing his food.

He threw a couple galleons on the table and several knuts for tip. Getting to his feet, he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, clasping it tightly. "Don't die out there, boy. I know I can't report you to Dumbledore, but I'd still feel terrible if you got yerself killed."

Harry shook his head. "Trust me, it'd be more than you who'd be disappointed if I lost this early. Meet me at the docks at midnight. Don't forget the package. I have a feeling I'll need it to go any further than this."

"Will do." Fletcher nodded, putting on his coat. "Now I got to go see the Order. Maybe make a living if Dumbledore ever lets me off." He shuffled out of the brothel with a wave and disappeared with a crack on the front steps. Harry watched him go, staring out into the afternoon outside.

After several minutes he put on his cloak and pushed himself to his feet. With a casual look around, he palmed all but one galleon and shoved his hands into his pocket, holding them tight to prevent them from making noise. The guilt he thought he would experience never appeared. He needed the money, and Gringotts was off limits.

Leaving the brothel, he breathed in the salty sea air, joining the crowds of odd wizards and witches walking along the docks. He needed to apparate, but he hadn't learned yet. Or had he? Lord Voldemort certainly knew. The Dark Lord could appear anywhere without the faintest sound, and did it faster and more elegantly than anyone save Albus Dumbledore. Could he look for a specific skill in the …_taint _he possessed? There was no sense in ignoring something potentially useful for his survival, and the irony would be particularly gratifying.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of the motions one went through to apparate, trying to visualize Voldemort himself in the act. Nothing happened. He spun in place, but succeeded only in making a fool of himself. After several more attempts he gave up. It was useless anyhow – even if he did manage it, he didn't have a license, and the Aurors would find him in moments.

There weren't many ways he could travel there in time without being caught. Fletcher had scurried away before Harry could ask him to apparate them there, not wanting to risk being involved. With the floo network being controlled by the Ministry and doubtless monitored, the only way back to London would be either the Knight Bus or a portkey.

Either way, he needed to appear less like Harry Potter and more like someone no one would bother throwing a second glance at. Thinking of Neville Longbottom's pudgy face, he tapped his forehead with his wand and whispered the words to a basic glamour charm. What felt like mud ran down from his forehead to his neck, hardening after several seconds into a rough disguise.

He turned a corner and walked up a long alleyway that led to a small muggle road. The various signs of wizarding life slowly diminished to nothing, and soon he found himself among the _boring_, hateful, and _stupid_…

He shook his head. He had to keep his own mind separate. More and more he found himself idly thinking thoughts that only Tom Riddle would think, perhaps when he was Harry's age. The strain of keeping _him_ out became more difficult every time he borrowed some skill from the Dark Lord. It felt like trying to stay afloat in an ocean of thick black tar.

Throwing his wand out, he waited for several moments before a large yellow, double decker bus appeared before him, the magical vehicle roaring into existence with the sound of a gunshot. He stepped up to the opening doors, where a plain looking witch was waiting.

"Welcome to the Afternoon Bus. Where are you headed?"

"The Ministry."

The witch frowned, gesturing to a large poster on the door showing the locations the bus travelled to. "In London? We only serve the Newcastle area."

"Is there anyway you could take me there anyway?" He gestured at the ridiculously large interior. "It can't take too long, with the bus being… you know." The witch stared at him for a few moments before turning to the driver. The excitable lady behind the wheel grinned almost crazily in return, causing the witch to sigh.

"I guess not. It's gonna cost you extra though, and we won't be there for a while. To London then, Sam."

Sam wheezed a strange sound of agreement and shut the doors. She hunched over the wheel and pulled the large lever beside her seat, her large eyes bulging in anticipation as the bus lurched to impossible speeds.

Harry sat himself down on the empty bus and reclined comfortably in the well cushioned seats. Sleep came over him as he watched as the world flashed by through the window.

_--_

_Harry's lips curled in amusement as he watched the youngest Lestrange torture the muggle archeologist._

_They were in the Middle East, in the tumultuous mountains at the border of muggle Iran, but deep in the heart of wizarding Persia. They had to be quick – revolution was brewing in the muggle government, and the wizarding leader that ruled both sides was finding himself losing control. Foreigners were fleeing the country in large numbers, and he had been lucky to catch the British archeologist just before he left._

_Immortality wasn't what he was pursuing this time. He had achieved something close, almost definite already. A gear, a single stone gear was what he was after. Through endless leads, diaries, accounts, and memories he hadn't found anything more than the fact that it held some sort of power. He needed to know everything there was to know about it. And the muggle, or squib, rather, wasn't talking. _

_He had thought himself creative when he had used the skin flaying curse on the Finnish spy years back, but his newest follower had a flair for the act that set him aside from almost all his other Death Eaters. He felt, rather than saw young Bellatrix Black watching with almost pathological curiosity and interest behind him, clutching his cloak like an eager child. _

_Lestrange reveled in the screams. With a grin he lit the end of his wand like a lighter and drew it across the mess that remained of the squib's abdomen. He then brought the tip to his lips and blew it, releasing a large plume that engulfed the man's legs. Rookwood looked away, as did Nott._

--

The area around the Ministry of Magic was one of the few places in London where a particularly astute observer could see there was something strange afoot. There were no overt signs of magic, and no one appeared in anything too out of fashion – at least to Muggle eyes. But there just a few too many people that nervously shuffled in and out of alleyways, in clothes a couple sizes too small, a couple shades too bright, or with funny hats they may have forgotten to remove.

Harry sat on a bench across from the nondescript office building that the Ministry used to cover the floors below. Several wizards came in and out of the various physical entrances that city block possessed, all of them with their hands in their pockets, grasping hidden wands as they fearfully watched out for Death Eaters.

Aurors were posted next to every entrance, dressed in trench coats to conceal their red robes. They didn't bother trying to hide their wands. Every fifteen minutes or so another Auror would appear and escort Department Heads, undersecretaries, and members of the Wizengamot. The building was slowly emptying as officials left for the evening.

Harry leaned back in the bench, looking up at the darkening sky. It had to be around seven or eight. That gave him a scant four hours before the Hit-Wizards were released. He needed to find a way to get Rabastian to show himself, or he'd find himself fighting two sides at once. There was always the chance the Hit-Wizards would come early, given their zealous behavior, and he had no illusion at all that they would have trouble hunting him down.

A shrill scream rang out from behind the building. He leapt to his feet and ran, his wand out at the sudden noise. Several sounds of laughter followed, and as he rounded the structure he found one of the posted Aurors face down on the ground, blood pooling around his severed neck. The head was missing.

The alley was cast in the shadow of the two buildings it divided, but Harry could see the mutilated outline of another Auror hung from his neck, the rope fastened to the top of fire escape ladder attached to the side of the building. Beneath the limp body, three wizards dressed in customary Azkaban robes were kneeling over a witch and beating her with something.

Several drops of something dark and hot fell on his face as the largest escapee took the round object over his head and slammed it down again. The cries grew weaker.

Hatred filled him as he unleashed a powerful cutting curse. The colorless magic blurred the air as it raced from his leveled wand and severed the man's arms just above his elbows. He turned around, haggard, worn face fixed in a terrible expression, and screamed. The other two around him stepped away from the broken witch and bellowed like hyenas, each picking up an arm and racing towards him.

Harry stepped back, only to be jumped on from behind, another crazed man pulling on his hair and biting down on his shoulder. Harry screamed in pain, clawing at the man's face with his free hand. He slammed himself backwards against the heavy steel of a dumpster and sent a large jet of fire towards the others. The man only bit deeper before howling to the sky, giggling madly and beating his fists against Harry's head.

Stars filled his vision, and he felt himself fall to the ground on his stomach. Wet, grimy dirt met his face, and he screwed his eyes shut. Bending his arm behind him, he pressed his wand against the man's back and released a banishing charm. The force of the magic pummeled him to the ground and sent a sharp pain through his ribs, but he distinctly heard the breaking of a spine. The escapee froze for a moment, just enough for Harry to roll over and kick away from him.

He looked up just in time to see one of the other prisoners stagger towards him on fire, swinging the burnt and severed arm at him. The flaming mass of blood, bone, and flesh hit his chest like a hammer, and he barely managed to scramble away to avoid being hit again. The man didn't seem to notice he was on fire, and screamed madly at him, charging at him as his very skin disintegrated.

Harry jumped to his feet and narrowly avoided another burning limb. The second inmate leered at him with his lipless mouth, his charred teeth and blackened skin glistening with blood. Terror like he hadn't felt since childhood filled him at the sight. Harry looked past him to see the armless wizard dragging himself back to the weakly stirring witch, wheezing and clucking his mouth.

They were more animal than human, monstrosities with no sense or logic. He looked around for any sort of help. Where were the other Aurors?

Harry steeled himself and threw a binding hex at the prisoner on fire. Turning to the side, he jabbed his wand viciously at the other, sending him crashing against the wall. Leaping over the paralyzed wizard, he ran to the amputated inmate and summoned the round object that had rolled to the side. The messy, bloodied head of the decapitated Auror raced to his hand. Harry grabbed it by the hair and slammed it into the man's face. The prisoner screeched and fell over on his back. Holding down the bile in his throat, Harry transfigured the head into a spike and sent it into the man's abdomen with the flick of his wand, pinning him in place.

The howling cries of the bound and burning prisoner died down behind him. Harry watched him struggle feebly against the binds as fire ate at him. The other burnt escapee rose to his feet shakily and gave a guttural cry of anger, throwing the severed arm down in frustration. He dragged a broken foot behind him through the dirt and grime, stripping away the flesh as it ran against shards of broken bottle. He fixed his empty grey eyes on Harry.

The whispered sound of a curse and a howling wind was his only warning as a flash of green light raced towards him. Harry jumped off to the side, the flaring tendrils of the killing curse only barely missing his arm. As he rolled to his feet, he saw the curse strike the burnt inmate down.

Harry looked behind him to see the man who had jumped on his back grin up at him, propped over the Auror's body and a stolen wand in one hand. His now useless legs were strewn behind him.

Wiping the blood from his face, Harry walked over and slammed his foot down on the man's hand, breaking both wand and fingers. It was satisfying to do it someone else.

"They're terrible things, aren't they?"

Harry looked up to see Rabastian Lestrange walk into the alley, dragging the broken body of Ludo Bagman behind him. The prisoner below him gurgled and beat his broken hand against his foot. Harry kicked him away.

"A surprise to see you aren't one of them." He replied coolly, grasping his wand tightly. His muscles tensed as a more collected, rational fear coiled in his body.

Lestrange laughed. "Oh no. I'm not as bad, you see, but Azkaban did change me." He reached into his robes and brought out a gleaming thumbtack and a small piece of paper. He calmly bent over and placed the paper against Bagman's forehead. Before Harry could react, he pressed the tack through skin and bone, tapping it once with his wand before letting the corpse fall to the ground.

"But I've only become more of what I was before…I've _advanced_, so to say, further gone along a path I had only begun to tread on before the Dark Lord's disappearance. But you! So _interesting_, such a change! Why, if memory serves you used to confine yourself to stunning charms and disarming hexes. Now you're impaling, burning, and mutilating almost as well as I… what does the old man think of you know, hm?"

Harry responded with a powerful blasting curse.

Lestrange hardly moved, and easily parried it away, flicking the curse to the side of the building. The explosion momentarily disoriented him as the sound echoed through the alley, and pieces of crushed brick flew through the air, completely obscuring his vision. Harry crouched low and watched for any signs of Lestrange. The searing tip of a wand pressed against the side of his neck.

"Ah, I see. He doesn't know. If he did, he would have at least taught you to be careful, dear Harry. That's the problem with big noisy spells like that – it allows the enemy to mask their apparition." Harry slammed his head backwards into Lestrange's abdomen just as the Death Eater murmured the incantation to a curse he vaguely recognized.

The thin flicker of light that left the wand narrowly missed his neck as he moved his head back. A fine cut appeared on the skin beneath his chin as the magic passed by and cut cleanly through the front of a car parked near the alley's opening.

Lestrange bent over as Harry drove all the air out of him. Harry curled his fist and drove it up into the Death Eater's face above him, causing him to stumble back. Harry quickly turned around and released a burst of fire. The plume of yellow red engulfed the Death Eater's figure and began to swirl around him, until it formed a narrow cocoon of vertical hell.

Without warning a tendril lashed out at him, reaching out like a whip, and he barely had the time to summon a piece of the broken brick wall to shield himself with. The defense held, but several more tendrils raced out of the tornado of fire, lancing out like spears.

Harry summoned several more and pieced them together to cover himself head to toe. His wand worked furiously to keep up, but he could see the brick blackening. The sides began to crumble, and each impact seemed to send more heat through. Sweat beaded across his skin, and the very air became almost too hot to breath.

He managed to use a brief lull in the attack to send a jet of water through, hoping to use the same trick he'd used on Jack. The water evaporated before it even neared the cocoon, sizzling audibly, and created a thick mist between them. Harry dashed to hide himself behind the side of the dumpster.

A sharp wind blew the mist out of the alley. He looked around the edge of the dumpster to see Lestrange open the spinning cocoon of fire like a cloak, stepping out of it. His wand was sheathed in white flame that spread across his shoulders to his other hand.

"Come out, Harry!" Lestrange bellowed. "I want to show you some _tricks_ I dreamed up in Azkaban!"

He pulled back just as the body of the paralyzed prisoner flew past his position. Just before it soared out of the alley it was skewered by a beam of fire. The body felt with a dull thump in the road, flames consuming it from the hole in its abdomen.

"Next time it's the poor witch, Harry!" He said, voice almost sympathetic. "I know you've changed, but you won't let her _die_, will you? Are you that much of a monster yet?" Harry closed his eyes, swearing silently, words coming in shuddering breaths. He needed the power. _His _power. He couldn't win – not alone.

The terrified shriek made the decision for him. He walked out from his hiding spot and faced Lestrange. The witch was floating in front of him, sobbing, his flaming wand inches away from her face. The swirling wall of fire behind him stirred eagerly.

"Ah, Harry boy. For bravery like that I'll let this cunt go." He dropped the witch to the side. "You were using fire before. _This_ is how it's done!" He roared, and sent a curse encased in a swirl of fire his way.

Something dark and angry rose in his mind, pushing aside the fear and doubt. He pushed his wand forward to meet the threat, his lips forming words he'd never heard. A thin band rushed out of his wand and immersed itself into the curse like a hook, and he pulled it out of the flame before it hit. The curse travelled up the thin band and into his wand, where he slammed it back out to the ground. A pale blue wall of magic rose out of the ground just before the spear of flames hit. The fire seemed to be absorbed into the shield, glowing yellow for a few moments before disappearing.

The Death Eater didn't miss a beat, sending another fast moving column of fire at him. Harry conjured a large snake before him and hissed so fast he didn't catch its meaning. He flicked his wand and the snake rose up and swallowed the fire whole. The serpent burst into black smoke, dissolving into nothingness.

Lestrange watched in interest, eyebrows furrowing. "That isn't something you should know, dear Harry. But no matter, I suppose we're all allowed to have a few tricks up our sleeves. Consider mine…"

He stepped back into the cloak of fire. With a slight gesture of his wand, the coccoon closed in around him once more. The color changed to bluish white and began to flare intensely. Harry watched cautiously. The Death Eater seemed to be controlling the fire, keeping it tightly leashed, and by all indications it seemed to be getting hotter. He began to back away, heading toward the road.

Without warning the rough, misshapen stones of the alley floor rose up behind him into a wall that reached to the top of the buildings. He was boxed in.

Harry looked around. There was nowhere to go. The alley was cut into a fourth of its size. Less than a couple meters away was a dead end. Between them was the steadily growing storm of fire. He looked up. The only way out was a small, distant opening above.

He backed himself away from the growing inferno, pressing up against the stone wall and coughing as a heavy, black smoke filled the air. He tried blasting the wall, but nothing seemed to make a difference. The stones were too smooth to climb, either. The only other way out was the fire escape.

He ran back towards the fire, holding his breath against the flaming wind and smoke, squinting his eyes. He heard a deep, booming laugh from within the fire, and when he tried jumping on top of the dumpster to climb the ladder, a lance of fire flew from the flames and into the steel platforms above. The stairs melted and deformed, the ladder dropping to the ground. The dead Auror hung from the ladder fell into the flames and disappeared. Within moments the flames had grown to encircle the dumpster on which he stood.

"Welcome to my oven, Harry!"

Another lance of fire flew at him from close range, and he narrowly cast a shield to save his head. He couldn't defend himself like this. He needed space, some room. His only hope was apparition, and he couldn't do it while surviving the fire and the attacks.

He jumped into the open side of the dumpster, thankfully empty, and closed the lid above him. The air inside was extremely hot already, and he could hear Lestrange mocking him, his voice crackling in the flames. His lungs burned, eyes tearing in the extreme heat. His skin seared with pain where it touched the black metal.

The tortured cry of the witch as she burned to death outside sent ice through him, but he didn't move. Not this time. He didn't want to die. He was afraid, afraid of death. There was no cowardice in that. The black power inside him thrummed in agreement.

He pictured himself on the roof, away from the fire, alive and well. He gasped for air, closing his eyes, ignoring the feeling of his hair sizzling as it brushed against the lid above. He could barely breath…

With a quiet hiss of air he disappeared, pressed through space, crushed from every direction as he vanished from the inferno and reappeared above. Harry fell over, greedily taking in the fresh, cool air. He rested his forehead against the cool concrete. He was alive.

"Are you dead yet, Harry? I can burn forever!" Lestrange raved from below.

Harry rose to his feet slowly and walked over to the small opening. He gazed down to the hell below. The spinning, laughing figure of the Death Eater below was visible inside the flames, lighting up the night around him.

"Not without air, you can't." He lifted his wand and traced the four corners of the opening, magic gathering in the space. With a few spoken words the magic solidified into a thick block, sealing off the smoke and heat in the enclosed portion of the alleyway below.

The feeling of anti-apparition wards slamming into place interrupted his moment of triumph. He froze – apparition was tracked and monitored at all times. He had just given away his location.

Harry ran across the small block to the other building, dashing across the rooftop to the intact fire escape on the other side. The stairs screeched and shook as he made his way to ground level. There was no one about for a couple blocks. It seemed as if people were studiously avoiding the area, most likely due to a muggle-repellant charm. Outside the charmed area, pockets of people moved about their daily business in the city, but not a single one glanced his way.

He looked behind him to see one older lady hobble on his way on the other side of the street. She had the look of witch about her. There seemed to be no other people about. Lestrange must have either killed or scared off all the other employees. If they weren't home or dead, they were too afraid to leave the Ministry.

Harry stepped cautiously toward the muggle occupied blocks, aiming to leave the wards and hide amongst the muggles. He didn't know how to disappear off the Ministry recorders, so if he were to escape he'd need a way to hide completely – it was nearing the end of the day, and HT-6 was about to be let loose.

He broke into a run and soon neared the muggles. He felt the magic brush his face as he left the muggle repellant territory, but the anti-apparition wards remained. It had to be the Order tracking him. They wouldn't fire on muggles, which left him free to disappear in the crowd. He dipped his head and pulled his cloak around him.

He walked for a few minutes with his head down. After another couple blocks he looked up. The old witch was next to him, hobbling by his side. He narrowed his eyes and reached for his wand, but before he could she had latched onto his arm. The feeling of a wand pressed into his side made him follow her lead.

She pushed him off to the entrance of a small apartment. The crowd passed them by without a glance as they stood on the front steps. The old lady ducked for a bit before rising to his height and straightening up. Her face, wrinkled and grey, was now heart shaped and smooth. Tonks kept the wand pressed against him as she stared angrily in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been, Harry? You just run off like that as if every dark wizard around doesn't want to see you dead. What the hell were you thinking?" Harry didn't bother to meet her eyes. His mind worked furiously to find a way out. He couldn't draw his wand faster than she could disarm and stun him, and he was too tired to duel.

"It's none of your business. You're not taking me back."

"It's every bit my fucking business. My job is to keep you alive, Harry. Do you know what kind of laws I'm breaking in the Ministry to keep tabs on your magical activity, floo, and apparition travel? I had to pull in every favor and then some to just find out you took off the Trace."

"I bet being a Metamorphmagus helped you there." Tonks' face colored in anger and she grabbed his robes, pulling him forward to face her. Her eyes lost their playful pink color and swirled to a deep blue, almost violet. Her hair lengthened and darkened to an inky black.

"You ungrateful bastard," she spat, "You're lucky I found you – "

Harry pushed her away violently. "Or _what_, Tonks? The big bad Hit-Wizards are going to come and knock me around? I don't _care_. They're not going to stop me." She watched him carefully, somewhat shaken.

"Stop you from doing what? What are you doing, Harry?" She asked quietly.

Harry kept silent, avoiding her face.

She pressed forward, moving around him to meet his eyes. "Are you going around looking for revenge? Is that it? Are you throwing around dark magic to kill some Death Eaters? Look at you – you're bloodied, dirty, you have cuts everywhere, and there are burns all over your cloak."

"I'm fine."

She touched his shoulder gently. "You're hurt, Harry. You're tired. Come back with me to Grimmauld Place and get some rest." It sounded like heaven. Harry felt his muscles trembling in exhaustion, his head pounding painfully. His fatigued body begged for respite. He took a deep breath.

"I can't go running back to the Order anymore. It's different now. I just killed three people in that alley back there. I burnt two to death, and stabbed another with a stake." Harry was sure it was only the fact she was an Auror that she didn't back away in disgust. Her grip on his shoulder tightened. "You think I can sit around and gossip with Ron and Hermione after that? I can't even let go of my wand anymore."

"Who were they?" She asked, pursing her lips.

"Rabastian Lestrange and some of the criminals that escaped Azkaban. They killed at least two Aurors and were beating a witch to death when I intervened. Two of them were killed in the crossfire and I took care of the rest. I don't think there's much left of them." Tonks rubbed her eyes.

"Jesus. Look, it's nothing anyone will have to know. It'll just be me, you, and Dumbledore. We've got people in the Ministry who can make this all disappear. Hell, they'll be grateful you took care of their problem." She paused for a few moments to let him mull it over. "I've got a portkey right there. Please don't make me take you in by force."

Harry found his wand gone. Tonks pocketed it silently, and before he could take it back, his hands stuck together in front of him. The apparition wards were still in place and he doubted he could physically overcome Tonks in his present state.

"You're not giving me much of a choice." He grumbled, testing his binds.

"I can stun you." She said with a smile. Despite his predicament, an alien sense of courage prodded him to reply.

"That would take the kinkiness away." He grinned as she took his hand. She rolled her eyes and brought out a medallion he assumed was the portkey. He prepared to bolt, but Tonks tightened her hold as if she knew what he was going to do.

"_Elebria,_"She intoned, but the activation code didn't seem to do anything. She frowned and tried again.

Harry looked around them warily. "I think there's more than an anti-apparition ward in effect." Tonks brought out her wand and gestured toward the sidewalk. The normally busy crowd was thinning rapidly. Harry saw one woman step on their side of the road and look around in sudden confusion before running away.

Tonks swore and pulled him out to street. "Looks like I wasn't the only one waiting for you to slip. They're here early."


End file.
